


Here’s Your One Chance, Fancy

by NicoPony



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexuality, Comedy of Errors, Don't Judge a Fic By Its Summary, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fertility Issues, Fluid Sexuality, Gender Identity, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Multi, Romance, Sex, Sexism, Suspension Of Disbelief, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, True Love, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoPony/pseuds/NicoPony
Summary: An unfortunate accident on Krakoa leaves Gambit changed, but not without his charm, wit, a survivor's instinct, and an unbreakable bond with Rogue. They’ll go to great lengths for one another to satisfy each other’s needs, mentally, emotionally and, of course...physically. It’s all sex, drugs, and country-western (and cats!) as our favorite couple face their fears.
Relationships: Logan/Rogue (X-Men), Remy LeBeau/Logan (X-Men), Remy LeBeau/Logan (X-Men)/Rogue, Remy LeBeau/Rogue, Remy Lebeau & Rogue
Comments: 33
Kudos: 47





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Includes explicit language, non-politically correct language (character POVs may be insensitive to gender/non-gender conforming persons, sexual orientation, women, men, various political and social positions, race, creed, nationality, body type, etc. and do not reflect that of the author), gratuitous sex scenes, undertones of non-consensual activities, frank discussions of fertility/infertility.
> 
> To be honest, I started out writing straight up porn and ended up with this story instead. Took cues from some story beats proposed by James Asmus for the second Gambit series that were nixed by editorial. Includes my usual cast of characters, Gambit, Rogue, Wolverine, Sinister, Mystique, Storm, Frenzy, and Greycrow. Minor appearances: Quiet Council members (sans Apocalypse), Iceman, Nightcrawler, Jubilee & Shogo, Jean-Luc LeBeau, BellaDonna, Oliver, Figaro, and Lucifer.
> 
> Inspired by the albums Fancy by Bobbie Gentry and Show Pony by Orville Peck, both of which have the song whose title I have stolen for this story.
> 
> Takes place in 2020/2021 Krakoa era, sometime after stupid Apocalypse left.

_I remember it all very well, lookin' back_

_It was the summer I turned eighteen_

_We lived in a one room, rundown shack_

_On the outskirts of New Orleans_

  
  


Gambit was kissing someone, not his wife. It would probably-definitely turn out to be a bad idea. He had the unfortunate tendency to act impulsively and self-destructively, particularly when he got to feeling cornered, trapped. Reason and logic were not Gambit’s strong suit, him being more of a “let’s find out what happens when I do this” kinda guy. His kissing partner had a persuasive way of talking; able to convince Gambit he was acting in his own best interest. He very often didn’t. But a deal was a deal, and really, giving himself over was a small price to pay. Gambit had sacrificed his body to much worse things (cough, _Death_ , cough) for stupider reasons. What was a body anyway, but another tool? It was a weapon. It was a means for escape. And if he could use it to get him out of this insane situation, get him back to being as close to normal as he ever was...if it gained him freedom, it would be worth the gamble.

His body could be a source of pain, too. However, Gambit was a _touch_ hedonistic. There was no reason he couldn’t try to enjoy his current situation, or at least tolerate it. Why make it worse for himself? Hair-pulling, spanking and bondage games aside, he wasn’t a sadomasochist. This was not even about sex, it was about power. Let them believe he had none, that he was weak. Gambit was good at playing ‘possum. This agreed-upon “transaction” was about manipulation and control anyway, not physical intimacy. 

So he was more than a little surprised with the amount of passion in the kiss he was receiving. To be fair, they both had a flair for the dramatic (some might say, _over_ dramatic). But seriously, this was _a lot_ of tongue. On the bright side, it kept him from having to be talked at. As far as grandiose, verbal-diarrhea went, Gambit preferred to be the one doing the talking and not the listening. He didn’t really like getting a taste of his own medicine. It was bitter; it gave a body a headache.

In Gambit’s experience, there was a fine line between feeling secure and being in a prison. If ever there was a place to bring that concept to vibrant life, it was being here on Krakoa. There wasn’t really a choice when it came down to it. He’d give just about anything, if it meant it would get him---and Rogue---the freedom to live their lives as they wanted.

And the kittens, too, of course. 

Remy allowed his lips to part, his mouth to open in response. Felt the smooth wet play of tongue slide across his own, the soft scrape of teeth on his bottom lip. He returned the kiss and doubled down on his wager. 


	2. Rainmaker

_We didn't have money for food or rent._

_To say the least, we were hard-pressed._

_When Momma spent every last penny we had_

_To buy me a dancin' dress._

  
  


Gambit was running. From who, or what, he didn’t know. His gut told him to run and hide, so he did. Rogue had told him to stay put; she’d come back just as soon as she figured out what to do next (hiding from the attentions of The Five and the Quiet Council seemed the first course of action, anyway). Gambit had to hope he could signal her from some other hidey hole, and that she’d find him again. 

It was not rewarding to know his instincts were right. He heard crashing through the underbrush behind him. They were trying to flush him out like a rabbit, scare him into making a mistake. Gambit ran in bare feet over wet earth, the turf squashy under the cover and tangle of tropical growth. The rain made the ground soft, treacherous. He was someone used to running pavement, down alleys and city streets, climbing buildings and dashing across rooftops. Gambit was out of his element in this place. Blades of grass whipped his naked legs as he passed, leaving superficial stinging cuts on his calves and thighs. He ducked under low-hanging branches, vines, and broad leaves. Behind him he could hear pounding uneven footfalls, panting breath. His pursuer was quickly closing the gap between them. Gambit feinted and zigged, his opponent zagged. Gambit slid down a mossy stone, gaining several yards. From above, he heard a faint curse as his pursuer changed course. 

Gambit shimmied up a tree, pressing his feet firmly against the trunk and climbing upwards with his hands. He wasn’t going to outrun his opponent. He had only two feet. It appeared his attacker could run on all fours. At the top of the tree, he turned to look down. There was his pursuer now, a massive dark shadow circling the base of the tree. Moonlight shining through a break in the clouds glinted on golden eyes and a cold, toothy smile. 

_How did he escape?_ Gambit’s mind reeled. Maybe the better question: _Who let Sabretooth out?_

As far as Gambit knew, Sabretooth had been sentenced to life in prison within the belly of Krakoa. But here he was now, hunting Gambit down. Sabretooth sunk claws into tree bark and began climbing up. The tree shuddered. Gambit cast about, looking for a means of defense or escape. He seized a thing that looked like a cross between a coconut and a rugby ball. Legs wrapped around the tree, he raised the thing over his head, charged it, and sent it downwards.

Though the nut took the charge poorly, the detonation was enough to knock Sabretooth from the tree.

“Anh! Chatton!” Gambit called down. “I got three more where that come from. Tell me, do you like piña coladas, and gettin’ caught in the rain? I sure as hell don’t.” There were actually five more nut-things, but Sabretooth didn’t need to know that. 

Sabretooth grabbed the springy tree and gave it a shake. Gambit clung to the wet trunk, dropping his next bomb. It fell harmlessly to the ground with a dull explosion. The rest of his ammunition tumbled from the branches.

“Looks like you’ve lost your nuts,” Sabretooth gave a growling laugh. “If you ever had any to begin with.”

“Creed, did one of my nuts clonk you in the noggin? You never been clever with words before,” Gambit observed. “And that was a solid burn.”

Sabretooth snarled and launched himself at the tree, climbing with frightening speed. Gambit leapt from the tree top, arms sweeping forward, hands reaching. He snagged a hairy vine, but it slipped in his hands. Just barely clinging to it with one hand, he swung and crashed into another tree trunk, this one offering no purchase. Palms and inner thighs burning, he slid down the tree. At least it slowed his fall somewhat and he landed on his feet. The wet ground softened his landing. He was off again, sprinting through the jungle. Creed leapt after him. 

Gambit relied on his agility to put his feet right, shifting slightly with each stride at the last moment. His balance was off, his center of gravity shifted. There was also the gnawing ache in his guts, which he could ignore, but the pain was telling him there was something decidedly _wrong_. That was a fear he could deal with later, as soon as he shook the very imminent threat of Sabretooth.

The ground under his feet was getting rockier. The stones were wet. He canted to the side, caught a lucky break. Sabretooth’s claws swept past his arm in a grab, the claw on his little finger just catching the back of Gambit’s bicep. Up ahead, a clearing in the trees. With a jolt, Gambit realized he was running towards a ravine. He was cornered. He had to turn and fight. 

Sweeping several stones from the ground, he spun and hurled them into Creed’s face. They exploded into bright pink flashes of light, blinding his opponent. Gambit twisted, rolled across the rocky ground, came to his feet and dashed along the ravive ledge. He could bolt back into the jungle...or...? He glanced down. The bottom of the ravine was far below. Moonlight reflected on water, a tiny thread of silver. Not enough water to break a fall. Up ahead, the ravine’s edge had fallen away as the jungle had encroached. Now flora hung over the empty space above the ravine. Gambit crashed into it, feeling the earth under his feet loose and untrustworthy. Dirt and rock shifted and rolled away to clatter into the ravine. A tree had fallen over, stretching three-quarters of the way over the gap in the earth. Using it as a balance beam, Gambit started along its trunk. 

Another pang in his stomach made him falter. His heel slipped on wet bark and he twisted, trying to compensate for his lack of balance. A tremor in the tree trunk. He didn’t turn. He knew Sabretooth was just behind him. Gambit ran the last few feet, tottering, arms outflung in an effort to stop himself from falling. It felt as if his body were no longer his own. He leapt towards the opposite side of the ravine, knowing he wasn’t going to make it. Sabretooth’s hand closed down around his ankle. Now he was dangling upside down over the ravine. Sabretooth was above him, silhouetted against the night sky. Rain poured down, lightning flickered. Slick skin slipped through Sabretooth’s grip. 

Rogue and her fancy bath oils were to thank for that.

Gambit was falling. He landed hard on his shoulder, felt something break in his chest. He tumbled and rolled over rocks, arms up, trying to protect his neck and head. He finally came to a sudden stop, splashing into the stream at the bottom of the ravine. Sucked in a breath that was half-water. He pushed away to his hands and knees. Coughed up water. He tasted blood. There was a sound of someone landing hard on the ground beside him. Gambit attempted to scramble away. Creed bore him to the ground, where he collapsed face down. Gambit’s hands sought out a rock, claimed it in his grip to charge it. Sabretooth put a giant clawed mitt over Gambit’s hand, smashed it against the rocky ground repeatedly until Gambit released the stone. His fingers bled, maybe one or two were broken. 

Sabretooth leaned over him, his breath hot in Gambit’s ear. A stupid thought slid into his head: _Creed’s breath isn’t nearly as bad as it usually is. Must have started eating his greens._

“I used to say…,” Creed said quietly. “Gambit smelled like something that’d taste good roasted over a spit.”

“Well-seasoned, me,” Gambit said tightly.

Creed pressed his nose into the space behind Gambit’s ear, just beside his hairline. Creed drew in a deep breath and Gambit shuddered. “Now...now you smell like....a little bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, wow! Thanks for the kudos guys. I hope you don't regret giving them to me later.


	3. Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

_ Well, Momma washed and combed and curled my hair, _

_ Then she painted my eyes and lips. _

_ Then I stepped into the satin dancin' dress, _

_ It was split in the side clean up to my hip. _

  
  


Wolverine didn’t pause on the front porch, foregoing courtesy and politeness, which really wasn’t his thing anyway. He threw open the front door to the couple’s pond house and strode into the open kitchen. Wolverine’s eyes searched out the shadows, the house was dark. In the center of the kitchen floor was a pet crate. Three pairs of glinting eyes stared out from behind a barred door. The cats gave a collective hiss in Logan’s direction. 

Passing the crate, Wolverine started up the staircase to the second floor. He found a single room, a bedroom. It smelled strongly of Rogue and Gambit, their scents woven thickly together to make their own sort of custom fragrance. Eau de...Ro-my? Outside, in open spaces, Wolverine could almost ignore it; a smell that could fill the mouth with want, send blood rushing through veins. Here, the smell was like a punch in the snout. There was no defining it. It was like lingering conversation over a good meal. Of a deep-tissue massage. The buzz from a glass or two of champagne. Also sex. Lots of hot sex. Though the bedroom was spacious, the bed had been pushed to the far corner so it flanked a wall. There was a glass enclosed shower to the left. A dresser and a large standing mirror faced the foot of the bed. In the middle of the floor, a figure crouched, facing away. A worn duster was thrown over the figure’s shoulders, the tail of the coat fanned out over the ground. The figure was hurriedly packing a bag.

Wolverine dashed forward, seized the figure by the shoulder to spin them around. Logan expected Gambit. But it was Rogue who looked up at him, eyes large in her frightened pale face. 

“Logan!” she hissed, fear quickly burning away into anger. “You scared the ever lovin’ crap outta me!”

“Where’s Gambit,” Wolverine demanded. 

Rogue turned away, fought the zipper on the go-bag and cursed. “Gone,” she said. “He left. Took a portal.”

“You’re lyin’,” Wolverine said. “Tell me where he is.”

“I won’t!” Rogue snapped. “Leave him alone! Just leave us both alone!”

He tried to shake some sense into her, but she was as immovable as stone. 

Rogue shouldered the bag. He saw that she was wearing little else other than the coat. “Get outta my way, Logan!”

“And where do you think you’re going to go?” Logan asked. “He needs our help.”

Rogue snapped: “And why would y’all help him? For why?”

“He’s---,” Wolverine began.

“A teammate? An X-Man?” Rogue asked, sarcastic, not expecting an answer. “A  _ friend? _ Sure, he is. Been out for drinks recently? Said two words to him in as many months?”

Wolverine stared at her, his jaw unclenched. “These things go both ways.”

She continued: “If it weren’t for this place---for the stupid council and all this nuttiness, he’d be fine! I sincerely doubt the kinda help they’ll offer would be anything he’d want!”

She shoved past him to stomp towards the stairs. “Rogue, stop!”

“Do me a favor, Logan,” Rogue said. “If you want to help, forget you saw me.”

Struggling for calm, Wolverine told her retreating back: “‘Ro and Kurt sent me. This was the first place I thought to look. I should’ve known he’d be in the  _ last  _ place. And if I’m looking for him...then others will be too.”

~oOo~

Sabretooth’s weight was pressed hard against his back. It was difficult to breathe from his fear and the broken clavicle or rib or whatever it was that pinched painfully in his chest. But it seemed like Creed was on a diet and not as heavy as he remembered; maybe he hated Krakoan food too. Sabretooth had twisted the arm on his damaged side behind his back, drawing out as much pain as possible. 

“What---what d’you even want?” Gambit ground out through panting breath. Thinking the answer would probably be: to eat you, my dear.

“I’m helpin’ you, Cajun.” Sabretooth was panting as well. “Let’s go visit the good doctor.  _ He’ll  _ put you to rights.”

There’d only be one doctor Creed could be referring to. Gambit found renewed strength and struggled more ferociously. Sabretooth grunted, pressed himself more firmly into Gambit’s backside. For an instant, Gambit froze. The stunned confusion of a deer in headlights. He swallowed dryly.

“Get offa me, Creed,” Gambit said, his voice even and calm now. “I’ll come peaceful.”

His breath was warm and wet on Gambit’s cheek. “I like watchin’ you squirm,” Sabretooth said, his voice low, hinting menace. 

Gambit breathed shallowly through parted lips. Resolved, he asked: “Just  _ watching _ ?” Gambit arched his spine, bucked his hips back against Creed’s hardness. Rocked his body, wiggled, twisted while panting and grunting out sounds of effort. 

Sabretooth’s breath caught. He slowly released his grip on Gambit’s good arm, the one with the bleeding fingers. Creed’s mouth was on Gambit’s nape, as if to hold him there like a mama cat holds a kitten, biting both wet skin and damp hair. “We can do each other a favor,” Creed said against his skin. “You give it up...and I give you over to Essex.”

“Sounds like I can’t win for losing,” Gambit said, and continued his efforts. Pressing back more firmly, repeatedly. Creed let out a soft groan. Gambit felt Creed’s hand creep down to his shorts, claws scraping his side. Other than his shorts, Gambit was otherwise nude. He thought:  _ stupid island, stupid nature, stupid idea to have sex outside, what with the dirt, and the inconveniently placed pebbles, and the bugs and the very, very unsexy waterfall. The only thing that could be less sexy was making love on a beach, what with the sand, and the sticky salt, and the friction. Wait, wait, wait...check that. Sex in a cave. Cave sex was definitely the least sexy.  _

Gambit groaned and arched, the back of his skull pressing into Sabretooth’s shoulder, his throat bared. His freed hand found a nice pointy rock. Sabretooth’s weight came off of his back for a moment, so the bigger man could adjust himself. A moment was all Gambit needed to charge the rock and drive it into Creed’s midriff, just below his ribcage. Sabretooth gave a strangled roar that was half pain and half rage.

Gambit squirmed out from under the man (Rogue and her fancy bath oils!). On his feet, he dove into a sprint. His feet splashed through the stream as he ran. He scooped up two rocks, spun in the air and threw. The rocks struck either side of the ravine in a fantastic explosion, sending up earth and stone. The sides of the ravine collapsed, swallowing up Sabretooth’s legs. He snarled as he clawed his way to freedom. Gambit didn’t pause to see if Creed would free himself. The ravine came to a turning. Once Gambit went around the corner, Sabretooth was out of sight. He scanned the rocky walls, looking for a way to climb out. 

A blast of light brought him up short. The weapon’s discharge crackled over wet stone and water, numbing Gambit’s feet. The muscles in his calves spasmed and he just barely stayed upright. He looked up to see a figure standing above at the top of the ravine. 

“That was a warning,” Greycrow said. “Now---you can make this easy on yourself...or you can make this fun for me.”

“Greycrow, you bastard!” Gambit screamed at him, then dove as Greycrow fired on him again. “You sonofabitch!”

“Fun it is!” Greycrow said happily, strafing the ground with bursts of light. “You were always up for a good time!”

Gambit dodged behind a small boulder and an energy bolt sizzled behind his head. He ducked, then ran out from his hiding place to cross the ravine and take cover under the outcropping Greycrow stood on. Someone leapt from the shadow of the outcropping and knocked him backwards and onto the ground. The breath whooshed from Gambit’s body, his skull struck the hard ground. It wasn’t as he feared though. Not Creed, but Wolverine. The man was forcing Gambit’s wrists to the ground and away from his face. Gambit’s hands were alive with pink glowing energy. 

“Stop!” Wolverine shouted. “Quit running!”

Gambit ineffectively tried to buck him off. Wolverine pressed him flat to the ground with his full weight. Gambit groaned and struggled to breathe. 

“If you don’t quit, I’ll let Greycrow shoot your stupid Cajun ass,” Wolverine snarled in his face. “Something tells me you won’t appreciate feeling numb for a week.”

Gambit went still, regarded Wolverine carefully. Then dove forward and kissed him full on the mouth. With tongue. Wolverine recoiled, was fired upon, causing him to jerk and spasm. Gambit introduced his heel to Wolvie’s groin, then escaped and ran. 

Greycrow was laughing maniacally. He fired his rifle into the ravine, seemingly at random.

“What the fuck!” Wolverine shouted. “You psychopath! Stop shooting at me!”

Greycrow called: “Why go for the doe when I can bag a buck?”

~oOo~

Rogue had absorbed Wolverine’s powers. It made it easier to track Remy through the wet jungle. His scent burned a bright pink path in her mind’s eye, filling her with a mixture of wild emotions. Not the human warmth of love and the comfort of companionship. This was animalistic hot lust mixed with furious desire to protect what was hers and hers alone. When she caught up to whoever pursued her mate, she was going to rip that person limb from limb. Then it was a toss-up between revenge on the person who’d originally hurt him, or reasserting her ownership over her mate in a display of possessive sexual dominance. 

She roared down the ravine, seeing crumbling rock and debris up ahead. Smelled a scent that pushed her over the edge, a familiar scent mixed with the other’s sexual desire. Rogue screamed, caught the figure out of the rubble and threw it into the ground. She was going to  _ murder _ this person. Her fist slammed into the face, then again, and again. She was incoherent with rage.

The arms came up defensively and Rogue battered them. “Stop!” the figure finally said between breaks in the pummeling. “Please, Rogue! Anna!”

With a snarl, Rogue stood, arms to her sides, fingers hooked like claws. Her breathing came in ragged bursts. The fallen form at her feet struggled onto their side, pushed themselves upright. Blood dripped from lips to spatter black on rock, drift in dark swirls downstream. 

“What the  _ hell _ do you think you’re doing, Mystique?” Rogue finally ground out, blinking rapidly through the sparks of rage flashing in her vision. 

Mystique rolled to her hands and knees, forced herself to her feet where she stood facing away. “I thought it’d be easier to track him down in Creed’s form.”

“You’re a damn liar!” Rogue shouted, rising into the air. “Come near him again, and I will gut you!”

Rogue was torn, trapped between two minds. 

_ Rogue  _ wanted to fly back into the interior of the island, blast through that cascading waterfall, and drag the Maker out. Toss him through his own gauntlet, then smash every piece of machinery, every demented invention, she and Remy had found there before they’d fled, knowing the council would soon be after them. It wasn’t the first time Rogue had suffered, the people around her had suffered, because of him and his creations. She’d make sure this time was the  _ last _ . 

_ Anna  _ wanted to rush to her husband’s side. Find him, comfort him, protect him. Assure him that no matter what, she loved him still. That was what he wanted, the  _ only  _ thing Remy wanted from her. It seemed a small thing. Rogue would give him more, but he never asked. 

No, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been asking for something else for awhile, she’d just chosen to ignore it. Make it into a joke and blow off his unasked request.

_ When can we go? _

_ Can we leave now? _

_ Can’t we just stay home? _

He never said it out loud, he didn’t ask directly. He’d been the one to say they should come to this place. But the thought was there.

_ I don’t want to stay here. _

But he wouldn’t leave, not without her. Rogue was ready, more than ready to say goodbye to this place.

Up ahead, there was a turn in the ravine. She could see bright flashes of light, the echo of a laugh. Rogue grabbed Mystique by the front of her uniform, lifted her into the air and took off in the direction of the firefight. On the top of the ravine she saw Greycrow, lit up in the glow of his firing weapon, grinning like a lunatic. Rogue tossed Mystique at him, sent them both toppling into the forest. The weapon continued to fire and they were caught up in a crackling blast. They both had regenerative abilities, they’d recover. But Rogue couldn’t say that she cared either way.

She circled the ravine, searching for Gambit. She spotted him tangled with Wolverine. Wolverine had Gambit on his knees, trapped in a headlock. Gambit’s arms were pinned up, they flailed as he tried to get a grip on Logan. Wolverine’s own legs were wrapped around Gambit’s thighs, struggling to hold his taller, thinner body in place. Finally, Logan fell forward, bearing Gambit to the ground where he continued to thrash and struggle.

Another spike of rage. Rogue suppressed it. She landed in the ravine to run a few steps forward. Falling to her knees she shouted: “Logan, let him go!” 

Wolverine abruptly complied, reeling back from Gambit. She saw Logan was regrowing an eye, his hair was singed, and there was a wound in his throat that he breathed hoarsely though. 

Gambit seemed to be spent. He was laying on his front, panting, eyes wide. Looking at him, seeing the look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t just leave him in this state. They couldn’t just leave the island. They had to find a way to fix this first. 

“Remy,” she said in her calmest voice and placed a hand on his shoulder. He winced. “It’ll be okay, sugah. Let’s just stop and think for a bit.”

His head shook a little from side to side. He swallowed, said breathlessly: “We gotta get out of this place.”

“Don’t talk crazy,” Wolverine told him. “Staying here is your best chance.”

“This whole place is crazy,” Gambit said, closing his eyes and pressing his face to the dirt.

“He could do it, Remy,” Rogue tried to soothe him, but she didn’t take any comfort in the thought herself. Of letting Sinister get his hands back on Remy. “He’ll put you back the way you were. He’s done it before. Then...then we can leave. Okay?”

“You don’t want to stay like this,” Wolverine told him.

“There are worse things,” Gambit replied dully, still speaking into the ground. To Rogue he said: “If I go t’him---after that. Then we’ll leave? Is that the deal?”

Rogue ran a hand through his damp and dirty hair. “It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: gratuitous love-making scene with G&R. If you want to skip that part, I'll put a summary in the End Notes so you can still follow along.


	4. Summertime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to skip the sex scene, go to the end notes for a summary. I will say, when I mark myself as "explicit," I am probably doing so out of an overabundance of caution. I write sexy-sex, romantic sex. I do not write non-consensual or aggressive sex. I mean, some bottom slappin' is fine, but that's about as far as I'll go. I would never use the word "fuck" to describe sex. I do use it often to describe other things though.

_ It was red, velvet-trimmed,  _

_ And it fit me good. _

_ And starin' back from the lookin' glass _

_ Was a woman where a half-grown kid had stood. _

  
  


Anna had him by the hand as she ran a few paces ahead. Occasionally, she’d turn and look back at him, her full lips parted in a playful smile. Tendrils of wet hair clung to her face and neck. A soft warm rain was falling, but they were already wet from the bath. Anna had suddenly risen from the bathtub, water sluicing down her beautiful body. Then laughing, she had danced out the front door in the all together. 

“Everyone on this damn island’s gone bananas,” Remy said, catching the front door, turning to usher Oliver back into the house with a foot. Then he too was running like a couyon after Anna, out into the jungle. She only allowed herself to be caught when they came to a hill of long grass. It looked soft at first blush, but Remy’s backside came down on a sharp pebble. Irritated, he picked it up and threw it aside. Then Anna landed on top of him and he said “oof!”

“What’s with the shorts, sugar?” Anna asked, pulling at the waistband of his underwear. “It’s not like you to be shy.”

“You try runnin’ around swingin’ this much pipe,” he told her, grinning. “I don’t want either of us to trip.”

She laughed, nipped at his lips with her own. “A  _ slight  _ exaggeration,” she said and slid her hand down the front of his shorts. Her fingers wrapped around him, moved on him in slow firm strokes.

Remy gasped against her mouth. Cupping her head with a hand, his fingers tangled in curly wet locks. He pulled her into a deeper kiss. He let out a half-sigh, half-groan and lay back onto the grass. She pushed his shorts over his hips and down his legs. Anna came to lay against him, her bare body pressing fully against his own. Their wet skin slid smoothly as she rocked herself up and down him, hands on his shoulders for leverage. Their flesh was frictionless with bath oil, skin still hot from the bathwater. 

He pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, breathed in the scent of her hair and skin. “The oil’s nice, chère. But next time, let’s take a roll in the hay  _ before  _ the bath.”

She turned her head so he could begin kissing his way down the other side of her throat. “But now we’re squeaky clean,” she said, slid up and down him again. Her hardened nipples scraped his chest. He made an approving sound in his throat.

“Napolean wouldn’t let Josephine bathe before sex,” Remy told her, pressed a kiss to the base of her neck. “I want to smell you, I want to smell like you. I want to have your scent all over my body.”

“Bath or no bath, you’re still a dirty boy,” Anna told him, her voice dark and teasing.

He turned her over onto her back, lay on his side next to her. Returned to kissing her mouth before kissing her chin. He worked his way slowly down her neck to the base of her throat. Licked a bead of water from the hollow there. His hand moved over a breast, caught a nipple between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. Anna sucked in a breath and released it with a soft ‘ah.’ His lips moved to her opposite breast, teasing it first before drawing it into his mouth. His teeth closed gently on the nipple and her hips rose from the ground as if by magic command. Anna’s hands were in his hair, roving his neck and shoulders. He felt her nipple hard and tight in his mouth, heard her shallow panting as she began to squirm. His mouth moved slowly towards her other breast, lips dipping to the furrow between those two soft white peaks. His face, for a moment, cupped between her breasts. He exhaled a breathy groan. Then he began to rise slowly upwards over the slope of her opposite breast. Remy’s eyes met Anna’s. She watched him as his lips gently sought her nipple, nipped it, then drew it sharply into his mouth. Her mouth opened, her eyes closed as she let out a soundless cry. He moved himself between her spread legs. Her hips rocked gently as he teased her breasts with lips and fingers. 

“Ah, god,” Rogue said, finally unable to stand the unrelenting stimulation, pulling herself slightly away. His lips parted from her breast with a soft kiss. He gave her nipple one last lap with his tongue and she jerked back with an inhalation of breath.

A dark laugh and Remy moved lower, kissing the faint curve of her belly, then slid down past her navel. At the apex of her thighs, he drew in a deep breath. “I can still smell you here,” he murmured into soft damp curls. 

“Oh, you...,” she breathed, trying and failing to admonish him.

“Like something...so good...and I can’t help myself…” he murmured and moved slightly lower. His hands crept up the insides of her thighs. He gently parted her sex with his thumbs and she gasped. His soft tongue lightly touched her most sensitive place. “Mm, you taste as good as you smell.”

Rogue moaned low in her throat. He began tracing her with the tip of his tongue, slowly working his way from the out to the innermost part of her. She arched toward him, seeking more. A groan of want escaped him as he pressed his tongue fully on her sex, then drew it upward to the peak of her opening, teased her there until she began to pant. His fingers delved into her passage and she gave a small shout. He was relentless here as he was at her breasts. Eventually, she shuddered and gripped his wrist, put her other hand to his shoulder, stopping him. He looked back up at her again. Anna smiled a small smile. 

“Had enough?” He quickly flicked her with a hard tip of his tongue and she let out a cry. 

“Oh!” she gasped, jerking back. “You always got to take it one step too far.”

He laughed and crawled, then slid up her body. He pressed her to the ground with his full weight. She wrapped her thighs around him. Then he was burying himself into her slick heat in one firm stroke. Anna’s head tilted back, the long line of her throat exposed, and let out a series of cries as he thrust into her. Several long deep thrusts that left her gasping as her body adjusted to accommodate his length and girth. Her heels pressed into him, encouraging. Feeling her wholly around him, her arms, legs, her tight sex, he had to force himself to slow. Remy distracted himself from the intensity of sensation, kissing her gasping mouth. He moved slowly, letting her feel the entirety of his length pass in and out. Anna continued to rock her hips against him, squeezing him in an irresistible, insanely pleasurable way. 

“You feel so good inside me,” Anna breathed. Her lips went to his ear. “I love to feel you fill me up.”

“Ah, dieu,” Remy gasped. Her hips rolled, her sex squeezed him. To watch her face, to look into her eyes, was to lose control entirely. 

“Yes,” she said quietly as he slid out. Then more loudly as he gave it back, long and slow: “Ye-es!”

She bucked against him. He responded with equal amounts of enthusiasm. He could hear the soft sounds of their bodies meeting again and again, wet skin against wet skin. Anna was gasping out cries now. She fell back into the grass, head back, eyes closed. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders. When her eyes opened, she spoke calmly, as if in conversation: “Oh. I am coming.”

Then loudly: “Oh mah god, Ah’m  _ coming _ .”

Remy’s hips jerked in an uncontrolled rhythm. He had been edging, just skirting the point of no return. He let himself go over the brink now, felt himself thrust deep, cock twitching as he emptied himself into her. He groaned out his own impassioned words, not fully hearing them. He knew when he gave a final shudder, came down on his elbows to hover just over her, that he said: “Oh, I love you. I love you.”

Anna let out one long sigh. Her legs fell to either side, limply. “Mmm,” she said blissfully. “I love you too, Remy.” 

He kissed her again gently. Reluctantly slid from her to lay at her side. The ground felt perfectly comfortable now. He closed his eyes and let out one last shuddering sigh in recollecting the intensity of his orgasm. It had been an unfortunately long time since they’d done that. Not since before she told him she was not ready for children yet (maybe never). And then, for whatever reason, it became difficult to procure certain types of birth control on the island. Either it was a shortage (and given the amount of randiness going on, that was likely)...or, there was some other reason. 

They didn’t know if Anna could even conceive. But they were still taking precautions anyway. Remy laughingly asked Anna what they called people who practiced the “rhythm method.” The answer being: “parents.” She didn’t think that was very funny. He didn’t tease her again about it. Took her mind off of it with other marital activities. There was still plenty fun stuff they could do that didn’t involve doing the Devil’s dance. 

“You want to go back in before we both drown on dry land?” Anna asked. 

Remy sat up and stretched. He reclaimed his soggy shorts and grimaced when he put them back on. “Can’t get any wetter,” he said. “Let’s go swim.”

Anna smiled, sat up too. “I think I hear a waterfall nearby. You want to go check it out?”

He nodded his agreement and watched as she stood. She asked: “You comin’, or not?”

“I just wanted to worship the ground you walk on one more time,” he said, and kneeling, he kissed her just above her pubic bone. 

“What am I going to do with you, Remy LeBeau?”

“People keep askin’, but when I tell ‘em, I usually get slapped,” he replied, his voice muffled.

She drew him to his feet, picked a leaf from his hair. “I think you’re right about needing another bath. My ass is grass, as in, there’s a lot of grass stuck to it.”

He turned her and brushed a hand over her curvy flanks, sweeping grass away, then gave her a slap. She yelped and tried to slap him back. Then it became a game of chasing and butt-slapping. Remy laughing, Anna letting out little shrieks. They ran up a hill, Anna patting him with both hands now as if his ass was a bongo drum. 

“Hey, I need to sit on that thing!” he said, trying to defend himself. 

“Way I see it, it belongs to me!” Anna replied. “And you don’t need to sit. You can just lay about in bed until I’m ready for you again.”

“I get shit from the alpha-types for bein’ emasculated, but I am likin’ our arrangement pretty good,” Remy informed her. “Sexual enslavement suits me.”

“Who’s givin’ you crap? I’m-a beat ‘em up for you!” Anna announced, shaking her fist. 

At the top of the hill, the sound of water falling became a crescendo. There was a small pond from which a stream tumbled away to the East. A tall waterfall cascaded in a nearly smooth sheet from an outcropping above. Remy wasn’t much of an outdoorsy person, but even he could see it was very beautiful. 

“Hope it’s not cold,” Remy said. 

“I bet it’s perfect,” and Anna trotted down the slight slope and waded into the water. Remy watched her, her skin bright against the dark water as she sunk slowly into it. He admired her broad but delicate shoulders, the curve of her ribcage where it dipped sharply to her waspy-waist. Then the flare of her hips and roundness of her bottom. Said bottom was sadly disappearing now beneath the water surface. 

He stepped into the water after her. Once it was a few feet deep, he crouched and pushed off from the sandy floor. A few strokes brought him to where she stood waist-deep. Her arms swished the water gently. Then she crouched too, so her head was near his own where he floated on his back looking up at her. Anna scooped a handful of water and splashed it over his forehead. He blinked water from his eyes.

“I baptise you. And now there y’are. Reborn,” Anna said.

“Don’t think Mattie would ‘preciate you tryin’ to make me a Baptist, chère. But think I prefer that over hatchin’ outta some egg,” he told her. “I already had my dunking when I was a baby. I have to imagine the Father wet himself too, when he saw the likes of me.”

Anna smiled down at him. “But then, that’s not fair. It wasn’t your choice. You don’t get a say what church you belong to.”

Remy gave a watery shrug. “That’s a papist for you. I think they were tryin’ to see if I wasn’t the actual devil. I didn’t burst into flames or nothin’. Pretty anticlimactic.”

Not really wanting to talk any more about it, he turned himself in the water then, swam further into the pond. Rogue paddled after him. He came to the waterfall, the spray of which dusted them with mist. Rogue’s eyelashes stood from her lids in spikes. Their feet sought out rocks beneath the surface, toes just touching. He pulled her close and kissed her lips. Water dripped down their faces. It was hard to put a finger on what he was feeling at that moment. Was this contentment? 

Remy looked into her eyes, so dark he couldn’t make out their color. Even though the water seemed a perfect temperature, he saw her chin give the slightest wiggle. “Thinkin’ we’ve had enough wet,” he told her, smoothing a lock of hair back from her forehead.

Anna swam to a nearby rock that jutted out from the water. Using her power of flight, she rose from the pond and reached down for him. He was pulled from the water and she placed him on top of the rock. Anna stood close beside him. She put her arm into the waterfall, watched as it seemed to cut the veil of water in two. Remy leaned into it, letting the water slick his hair back from his forehead. 

“Squeaky clean, like you said,” Remy told her and gave her a somewhat lecherous grin. “Now...what say you let me put my tongue in your pretty little  _ cul. _ ” 

Anna’s mouth opened, forming a little O of surprise while still smiling at the corners. “Oh…! You!” She gave him a little push. Remy slipped.

Rogue and her fancy bath oils…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sinister masticates the scenery, then comes back for seconds.
> 
> Summary: Gambit and Rogue, post-bath, go running outside naked (Rogue's idea, and Gambit at least thought to bring his shorts). Gambit catches Oliver before he runs out the door. The couple make love in the green grass. They decide to go swimming afterwards near a waterfall. After a brief discussion about baptism/rebirth, Catholic vs. Southern Baptist (re: having choices), they go kiss under the waterfall. Gambit makes a crass comment about something he would like to do to Rogue, and playfully, she gives him a push. He slips (bath oil!!!) and falls through the waterfall.


	5. Drive Me, Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get partway through this chapter and say WTF?! I hope you’ll at least read my end notes to explain my thinking. 
> 
> The Doctor Essex says take with two grains of salt and call me in the morning.

_“Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down!_

_Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down._

_Lord, forgive me for what I do,_

_But if you want out girl, it's up to you._

_Now get on out, you better start sleepin' uptown.”_

  
  


Gambit went along peacefully. Would have gone on his own even, but was instead flanked by both Wolverine and Greycrow. He experienced not a small amount of resentment and animosity about his escort. Greycrow gave Wolverine shit about the injuries Logan had sustained at Gambit’s hand. Gambit knew he’d only managed to get in a few licks because Wolverine was holding back from actually hurting him. He’d been on the pointy ends of Wolverine’s claws before, knew full well the damage they could do. This time, however, Gambit was not just going to lay there and let himself be brutalized. 

He’d walked into Sinister’s eponymously named Bar, which offered no drinks but instead an ambiance of “ick.” Crimson crystalline stalagmites, glossy tile, and cold steel blended with ostentatious fabrics and ornate furnishings. A place he’d avoided both physically and mentally. As if by not acknowledging its existence, he could will it to not be. He avoided most places and people besides, opting instead to stay at the house he and Rogue had made for themselves. Remote, where they could be alone together (good fences make good neighbors, but in Remy’s opinion, _no_ neighbors were best, plus no obstructed view). Rogue accused him of lately being grouchy, impatient, downright antisocial. No contractions there, but there was also the clack-clack-clack of anxiety ratcheting in the back of his mind. Anxious about what he _didn’t know_ about the island (which could fill an ocean), and what he _did know_ about life off of the island. A life he desperately wanted to return to.

Now he was laying on a padded table, staring at the red crystalline ceiling. Save for his hair, he was dry and dressed in a cotton hospital gown that opened in the front. Gambit was alone in this place, a mix of sterile medical practicality and whimsical Victorian/Edwardian era frippery. Dark, blood-red damask covered walls, dark wood cabinets concealing modern lit shelves, truly ridiculous art on the walls of stiffly-posed figures, all of them being of Sinister himself. The insane British Colonial era affectation Sinister had assumed was extremely disturbing. If he’d had to live with Sinister and his ilk back in the late 1800s, Gambit might have joined the large number of women who chose to stick their heads in their ovens just to get away from them. 

Gambit knew he was being kept waiting, left to stew in his own juices. He wasn’t going to give Essex the satisfaction of riling him up. Gambit closed his eyes, moved the radio tuner in his mind to an appropriate station, and let the music wash over him. Immediate concerns and anxieties were now on the backburner. It also helped to avoid the pain in his lower abdomen. It felt like someone was taking a pair of pliers to his guts. 

He didn’t know how long he’d actually laid there until someone pulled the plug on his radio. Gambit reopened his eyes, annoyed. Sinister was standing over him. Gambit grimaced. He got a full view of Essex’s haughty features, his demonic eyes that shone with arrogance and callous amusement. The mutate had cultivated a beard now; likely he thought it accentuated his chiseled jawline. Gambit begrudgingly admitted to himself that it did. Gambit’s own expression was sour. Essex gave a cartoonish approximation of a smile, like he’d learned how to make facial expressions from Looney Tunes characters. Then Sinister began to laugh, first a chuckle which became a full throated guffaw. Gambit thought: _If he slaps his knee, I_ will _lose my shit._

Sinister tapped the side of Gambit’s face lightly with a flat hand, still grinning his shit-eating grin. “Now, now. Such a dour expression. You would look prettier if you smiled.”

Gambit ground his molars, then finally said: “That’s an American thing. Everyplace else you go, people don’t walk around with grins on their faces. Only U.S. citizens and crazy people smile for no good reason. You’re included in the latter group, BTW.”

“Oh, but I have numerous reasons for good cheer,” Essex informed him. Then he tutted with a mock show of sympathy. “LeBeau, the predicaments you find yourself in. I am not certain if I should be vexed or amused.”

“So you’ve learned to have more than one emotion. Good for you,” Gambit said. “Next you’ll move to advanced feelings. Try out ‘empathy.’ Or ‘remorse.’” 

“What biological purpose would that serve? Seems self-defeating, and you would know, wouldn’t you?” Essex made a loose all-encompassing gesture at Gambit’s body. “Now that the rhetoricals are out of the way, would you care to explain how you came to be in this situation?” 

“Seein’ as how you sent Greycrow after me, I’m going to assume you already know,” Gambit gripped the hem of the hospital gown, blotting a sweaty palm. 

“I would like a first-hand account of your experience to sate my scientific curiosity,” Sinister said. “Or I could simply remove the memory from your mind.”

Gambit fared him with a disgusted look. “To be honest, I don’t remember a whole lot. I fell, for what seemed like a long time. Then it felt like I was bein’ eviscerated, which is becoming something of a reg’lar occurrence for me. I might have passed out. When I come to, I was laying on the floor of a cave. Also an experience I didn’t care to repeat.”

Essex ran a hand down his chin, considering. “As always, you are most unhelpful.”

“I’m thinkin’ you know more about what happened to me than I do,” Gambit said.

“If you’re referring to the process that left you in this state, I can supply only rudimentary understanding. I was not behind the creation of that contraption...no. Too much _magic_ involved,” Sinister looked for a moment like he had a bad taste in his mouth, flapped a pale long-fingered hand dismissively. “A mixture of something like the Siege Perilous portal...and technology perfected by The Nanny---her deaging chambers taken from her ship. Magic mixed with machinery. Much like the man who created it.”

“That man needs professional help,” Gambit said.

Sinister spread his hands in a “what can you do” gesture. “Forge cannot help his nature.”

Gambit frowned: “Obsessive compulsion and severe PTSD contributin’ to a pathological fear of failure is not anyone’s ‘nature.’”

Sinister folded his arms, looked down his nose at Gambit. “A psychoanalysis, LeBeau? Do you believe yourself to be some kind of expert?”

“Of course not. It’s a combo of that ‘empathy’ thing I was talkin’ about earlier, and that I’ve been seein’ Doctor Drumm since me and Rogue got back from our honeymoon and recognize some of the same patterns of behavior in Forge that I do in myself,” Gambit explained.

“Nevermind,” Sinister said in a blasé tone. “I have no interest in the inner-workings of _your_ mind. I know it to be a rubbish heap. Best of luck to Doctor Drumm, though I think his time would be better served maintaining the balance of the universe than bothering with your brain.”

“I’m goin’ to go back to my radio now,” Gambit said tiredly. “Wake me when this is over.”

Sinister tapped him in the forehead with a metal stylus. Gambit reopened his eyes to glare at the madman. “Your talent in withstanding extreme amounts of pain is impressive. I wonder if it is a physical ability or a psychological one? Inquire of your doctor the next time you speak with him.”

“I’ll just stick with the topic of coming to terms with the horrors of my past, thanks,” Gambit said. “Should only take the next hundred years or so.”

“You will not retreat to your mental vacation home,” Sinister said. “I need you to communicate during this examination. Or at the very least, move your mouth in a way that conveys sound and your very basic understanding of what is going on.”

Gambit rolled his eyes into the back of his skull and gave a loud groan of frustration and contempt. “ _Aaagghhh!_ ” 

Sinister stuck a tongue depressor into Gambit’s mouth and he gagged. “Ha-acckh!”

“I believe you are expected to say ‘ah’, but this is fine,” Sinister observed, shining a light down Gambit’s throat. “I commend you on your oral hygiene.”

When the wooden stick had been removed, Gambit said: “Maybe your fellow countrymen could learn a thing or two. It’s called ‘flossing.’ And I don’t mean the dance.”

Sinister hit him again, pinging the metal stylus off the top of his head. He then held it before Gambit’s eyes. “Track this.”

“Maybe stop hittin’ me in the head,” Gambit grumbled and followed the stylus back and forth with his eyes. The bright light Sinister shown into them next was not appreciated. 

“Surprisingly, you have not suffered any head trauma. I would have expected otherwise,” Sinister said idly. “Tell me, how is your shoulder?”

Gambit’s shoulder had been wrapped and immobilized. Likewise, his fingers were bandaged together. He’d been shot up with some nano-somethings of Hank McCoy’s to fix the damage done to him, plus healing grotto crap from the island which he’d just as soon do without. From experience, he knew it wouldn’t be too long before he’d be in fighting form again. “Better,” Gambit finally said. 

“Sit up,” Sinister commanded, drew Gambit into a seated position with a hand to his upper back. Gambit’s head was turned to the side as Sinister peered into his ear. Then the opposite side. Sinister put aside his light on a nearby tray of various medical accoutrements, some of which Gambit didn’t recognize or want to know about. Sinister ran a temporal thermometer over Gambit’s skull and behind his ear. “Elevated temperature. That is normal for you.” A stethoscope and pulse rate monitor also returned the expected results. Sinister’s hands felt along Gambit’s neck. Gambit tried not to cringe away from his touch. “Normal.” Sinister said, pushed Gambit back onto the table, then pressed fingers into Gambit’s lower belly. Gambit grimaced in pain. “Is that painful? Hm, to be expected all things considered. But we shall take a closer look momentarily. You may be perhaps even better than normal. How does it feel to be the biological equivalent of eighteen again?”

“Even worse the second time around,” Gambit snapped, eyes slitting as Sinister’s hands moved across one side of his chest, fingers pressing uncomfortably, before he moved to the other side. His fingers pressed into his armpits, as if searching for something.

“Ah, to return to a time of peak virility!” Sinister exclaimed. “Of course, I am _empathizing_ with you, as I have never experienced a decline in reproductive status.” He made air-quotes when he said the word: “empathizing.”

“Gross. TMI.”

Sinister tapped him on the head with his stupid stylus again. “What could be more beautiful than the creation of life! And you, fully given the ability partake in the joys of procreation! Speaking as both the father and mother of many---.”

“Shut up. Shut. Up. _Shut up_ …”

“--Of my own indomitable race of children. To witness your progeny---.”

“Sweet merciful Lord, take me now!”

“Emerge from your life-giving body, carried forth from your very loins in a rush of viscous alimentary fluid---.”

_“Swing low...sweet chariot. Comin’ forward to carry me home…”_

“And draw their first breath. It is the equivalent of _being a god!_ ”

Silence.

“LeBeau?”

“LeBeau is gone. I am death now.”

“You are most certainly not.”

“Gambit died. You kilt him.”

“Very well, an autopsy it is.”

“Hey! Ow! You actually stabbed me, you asshole!”

Sinister replaced the scalpel on the metal tray. “Apologies. That was unprofessional. Let us continue,” he snapped on a pair of gloves. “I shall practice my craft. Now lie back, LeBeau, and think of England.”

~oOo~

Anna saw Remy slip and instinctively reached for his hand, claimed his wrist. But he slipped free and disappeared behind the watery veil of the waterfall. In hindsight, the large amount of oil she’d poured into their bath might not have been the best idea.

“Remy!” she shouted and dove after him. She hit---something---like a barrier of wet tissue paper, but thick as the skin of a drum, and passed through it. There was a weird squirming sensation that rippled through the whole of her body, concentrated mostly on her lower belly. She shuddered. Her fall continued and she found herself on all fours on the gritty floor of a cave hidden behind the waterfall. There was a soft yellow illumination in the space that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Anna cast about, searching for Remy. He was laying on his front on the ground, his head turned away. She put her hand to his shoulder, shook him gently. He was unconscious.

Anna looked up then, back at the waterfall. There was a contraption there. If Remy were awake, he would have gone on and on about something called a “stargate” until Anna’s eyes rolled back into her head. But he was out, and she had to make her own comparisons. The interior of the circular portal was rippling gently, transparent but at the same time not. 

“What in tarnation?” she said.

“Huh,” said a voice behind her. “So...I should probably not have left that there.”

Anna turned to see Forge, staring up at the portal with a vaguely interested look on his face. She realized now that they were in a portion of the Armory. Forge pinched his chin with the fingers of one hand. Nodded to himself and gave a small shrug with one shoulder, acting all modest. “At the very least, you both came out in one piece.”

Anna’s eyes narrowed. “What was _that!?_ ” she shouted, her voice echoing.

Forge pointed a device at her and she recoiled. She found herself scanned with a green beam of light. While she was blinking the stars from her eyes, Forge consulted the readout on the device’s small screen. “As expected, no change. But you should probably submit to a full medical examination.”

Anna shook her head, frustrated. She turned to Remy. “He’s hurt! Help me move him.”

“I’ve scanned him already. He’s fine,” Forge said, and started walking deeper into the cave which was filled with other pieces of machinery. “Likewise, he’ll need a physical. But other than some discomfort, he’s perfectly healthy. I need to contact Xavier and the others on the council. Tell them the procedure I created was successful---naturally. I hadn’t intended to test it this early. I’m ahead of schedule.”

“What---what procedure is that?” Anna said, feeling panic rising. “What did you _do?_ Oh, mah god, Remy...Remy, wake up.”

“I don’t know how happy they’ll be about the self-elected test subject,” Forge rambled on, mostly to himself. 

“He didn’t volunteer to do---whatever it is!” Anna snapped. Placing one hand behind Remy’s head, she slowly turned him over by his shoulder. Anna gasped to see his face. “Forge! You maniac! What in the world could you have been thinking?”

Forge was half-seated on a tall stool in front of a metal table, his face glowing in the light from the computer monitor he was staring at. “Ummm….,” he said distractedly as he typed. “‘Make more mutants’?”

Anna’s mouth opened and closed. She looked more closely at her husband. There didn’t seem to be _more_ of him, but less. “Ya turned him inta jailbait! Turn him back, right now!” 

Forge considered this, looking up at the ceiling in contemplation. “Well, it never occurred to me to build something to _reverse_ the process.”

“Dammit, he’d better not be stuck this way!” Anna said hotly. 

“I can see how this might make things...awkward for you,” Forge said, finally looking at her. “But, no judgement. Do you maybe need a bathrobe…oversized shirt?”

Anna gently lay Remy down, furious beyond words. She stood and took several menacing steps in Forge’s direction. “You. Start workin’ on reversing this. _Now!_ ”

The computer pinged, and Forge’s eyes moved back to the screen. “I think we’ll have to wait to see what the Quiet Council says,” he replied.

“I don’t see that they get any say!” Anna shouted. “It’s _his_ body!”

Forge folded his arms over his chest. “The fact of the matter is, Rogue, we simply don’t need that many men.”

Anna came to a stumbling halt, blinked repeatedly, then turned back to Remy. Seemed to see him for the first time. Slowly, she turned back to the Maker. She said to Forge in a quiet but deadly voice: “If that’s true...once I’m done with you...you won’t be missed.”

~oOo~

Essex set the device onto the metal tray with a soft clack. Remy had become uncomfortably and intimately acquainted with the thing in these last few moments. File that experience away under: Let Us Never Speak Of This Again. 

“That’s done then!” Essex said. 

“Oh, thank god,” Remy whispered, moving to sit up.

“On to the next order of business,” Essex pressed him back against the exam table. He wheeled away on a stool to a cabinet, opened a drawer and retrieved a small square package from it. 

“What is that?” Remy asked, alarmed. “What is that for?”

Essex showed him the package with a wry expression on his face. “Surely you recognize a prophylactic, LeBeau.”

Remy was shaking his head. “What the actual flying---!”

“Oh-ho, as I have been telling you now for the last forty minutes, you must _try to relax!_ ”

“Lissen you psycho, sombitch---.”

Quick as an eyeblink, Remy was struck on the head with the metal stylus. “Do not speak of my mother thusly!” Sinister announced. 

Remy snatched the metal rod from Essex’s hand, charged it, and threw it at an oil painting of Sinister wearing a red riding habit and sitting astride a horse. The stylus lodged there for a moment and then the painting exploded. 

“That was a very nice likeness of my person!” Essex said, aghast.

“In my professional opinion, it was banal crap and not worth the canvas it was painted on,” Remy snapped, he attempted again to sit up and extricate himself from the contraption he found his legs in. “We’re done with this!” 

“I beg to differ,” Essex said and gripped Remy by his injured shoulder. He winced and tried to pull free of Essex’s iron grip. 

“This is assault!”

“This is a standard medical procedure,” Essex continued calmly.

“This is some Larry Nassar level shit!”

“My dear boy, or...hm. My dear, this is not intended for the use you are most familiar with,” Essex told him. “I will explain and you will remain calm.”

Remy was released, he fell back onto the exam table, panting and holding his shoulder. Essex removed a wand-shaped item from beneath the table and rolled the condom down onto it. 

“Where did you even find one of those rubbers?” Remy asked. “There’s none to be found on the whole of this island.”

“Medical supplies,” Essex said idly, showed him the wand. “This is an ultrasound.”

“No, it isn’t. Anna made me watch how many episodes of _This Is Us_. I know what an ultrasound is now, and that’s not it,” Remy said.

“Internal ultrasound,” Essex said. 

“Nope,” Remy said. “Had enough of that.”

“Totally painless,” Essex responded.

“Says you!” Remy snapped. “I get to feelin’ if more women were involved in med’cine, all these implements of torture would be designed a whole lot different!”

“And I am starting to believe my last patient’s assessment, that most men are indeed, big babies!”

Remy gracelessly disembarked from the exam table. “I won’t consent to this.”

Essex threw his hands up in disgust, looking up at the ceiling. It was sort of humorous given he was still holding a phallic looking device in his hand. He placed the device back into a compartment under the table and stood. Remy backed up against the cabinet, rattling it. 

“Precautionary besides,” Essex muttered and approached. “Otherwise, you are in perfect health.”

“I beg to differ,” Remy said waspishly. 

Essex reached over him, uncomfortably close, and removed something from an upper cabinet. It was a syringe. Then he proceeded to a different shelving unit, removing a vial from the shelf. With growing trepidation, Remy watched as the mad doctor filled the syringe. 

“You said you were gonna explain,” Remy said warily.

“Hormones,” Essex replied idly, double checking his handiwork. “To ease your transition.”

“Oh…,” Remy said. “And just where are you---ow!”

He’d been stabbed in the ass. 

Angrily rubbing the injection site he asked: “And when can I expect to be normal again?” 

“I am afraid this is as normal as you get, LeBeau,” Essex said.

“No, I mean, when will I have an outie instead of an innie?”

Essex raised an eyebrow. It went too high up on his forehead to be a normal human expression. Remy stared at it, perplexed. “I have no intention of changing you back,” Essex said. “You are far more useful in this form than in your previous.”

Remy’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “What! You can’t---! I’m a _man!_ ”

Essex looked bored. “Is this going to turn into a discussion of sex versus gender identity?”

“I’m not even gonna pretend I know what I’m talkin’ about when it comes to that. I know what I am, and what I am---is not a lady!” Remy said and pointed at his crotch. “Fix it!”

“You do not make demands of me,” Essex said coldly. “That is not the nature of our relationship.”

“Fine! What will I have to do to get you to make this right?” Remy snapped.

“That’s more like it! And mind your tone,” Essex gave a lizard-like smile.

Remy glared at him, he could feel his face and neck getting red. 

“First, you will complete your exam,” Essex said. “Then, you will permit me to remove a sample.”

“A sample of what exactly…?” Remy asked.

“Your reproductive---assets. Don’t worry, you have about 300,000 of them.”

“Ughh,” Remy said, disgusted. “And then…? You can fix this?”

“I suppose I might collaborate with Forge,” Essex mused. “He did appropriate technology from one of my dear Hellions, after all.”

“How long has Forge been workin’ on this...thing?” Remy asked with dread.

“Several weeks,” Essex replied. 

“So, several weeks, like this,” Remy confirmed. 

Essex spread his hands. “At the very least.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just do what you gotta do,” Remy waved his hand as if to sweep away his disgust. 

Essex clapped his hands once. “Splendid. I obtained consent! Won’t the other council members be proud of me?”

Remy’s eyes flicked upwards to regard Essex. “You know, I could give you Doctor Drumm’s contact info. Maybe he can help you work out,” Remy held up a hand, waved it over Essex, “whatever it is you’re going through.”

Essex gave a petulant frown. “LeBeau, your own myriad mental issues have impaired your ability to assess others, build trust, and form long-term relationships. A continuation of self-sabotage. You are hardly in a place to assess _me._ ”

“What you’re doin’ now is psychological deflection,” Remy began. “It’s a pattern of narcissistic---.”

“I do believe we are done for today. Greycrow will see you to our most comfortable accommodations,” Sinister continued, and pointed towards the door which was now opening. “Enjoy your stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve literally unmanned Gambit. Really, it’s no different than what the writers at Marvel have done to him over the years. So you can join me on this satirical rampage to combat the character assassination Marvel writers have perpetrated against my favorite character, and see how Gambit literally and figuratively gets his balls back, or you can...I dunno, go binge-watch Bridgerton or something. Which I highly recommend, because hullo Your Grace Mister Cute Butt Cheeks!
> 
> Dr. Jericho Drumm is Doctor Voodoo, protector of NOLA and a psychologist. 
> 
> Also, my apologies to my friends in the UK. Gambit was being a jerk.
> 
> Next time: very short chapter of Wolvie’s hot take on Gambit’s sitch.


	6. Delta Man

_ Momma dabbed a little bit of perfume _

_ On my neck and she kissed my cheek. _

_ Then I saw the tears welling up _

_ In her troubled eyes when she started to speak. _

  
  


Gambit kissed him, kissed him full on his partially opened mouth and stuck his tongue between his lips. Wolverine lurched backwards in surprise, dragged a forearm across his mouth, feeling Gambit’s saliva smear across his chin and cheek. He was about to berate the thief when he was caught in a blast from Greycrow’s rifle that would have knocked another man out cold. Wolverine snarled as he was shaken with tremors that rendered his limbs temporarily out of his control. Gambit squirmed out from under him. Wolverine was unceremoniously kicked in the crotch. 

Now Wolverine was seeing red. Things had escalated quickly. Wolverine wasn’t planning on hurting Gambit, as he was operating under the premise that he was to retrieve the thief before anyone else on the council got weird ideas. Apparently, weird ideas about what to do with Gambit were in abundant supply. And Gambit, being Gambit, couldn’t just do things the easy way, oh  _ no _ . Instead of just accepting help, he’d rather just dig himself a bigger hole. 

Plus, that damn fool maniac Greycrow was still firing his weapon. 

“What the fuck!” Wolverine shouted, his teeth gritted in pain. “You psychopath! Stop shooting at me!”

Greycrow called: “Why go for the doe when I can bag a buck?”

Dammit, he was going to beat Greycrow’s ass too. Wolverine scrambled after Gambit who was staggering down the ravine like a drunk. Gambit was holding his arm to his side with his opposite hand. Wolverine could hear his ragged breath, smell the tang of his blood, and to some extent, even taste Gambit’s alarm in the air. He smelled like a wounded animal. Wolverine had to shake himself mentally to rid himself of the instinctual call to run his prey down.

“Gambit! Just calm your shit! We’re trying to— _ Greycrow _ ! Augh! Cut it the fuck out!”

Greycrow called back: “I’m just trying to help!”

“How—is this—helping?!” Wolverine dove and rolled to avoid the gunfire.

“Seems like when  _ you  _ go after Gambit, he ends up getting ventilated! Can’t have that now, can I? I was ordered to bring him back in one— _ huunphf! _ ”

The gunfire abruptly ceased, but Wolverine didn’t turn to see what had happened to Greycrow. It wasn’t hard to catch up to Gambit, he seemed to be running on fumes now. Wolverine grabbed Gambit and pulled him under the cover of an overhang. Wolverine was thanked with a thumb to the eye and a charged rock to the throat. So there was still some fight in the Cajun after all, and the whole wounded animal thing was just another one of his tricks. Even if he wanted to explain, he couldn’t tell Gambit he was trying to help him, not with a hole in his neck. Wolverine grabbed Gambit’s injured arm, twisted it. Gambit grabbed a fistful of Wolverine’s hair. Wolverine managed to get him into a headlock, using his weight to take Gambit to his knees. He continued to writhe. Damn, what was he covered in anyway? He was slippery as an eel. He looped one leg over Gambit’s thigh, parting the other man’s legs. Wrapped himself around Gambit’s body, caught his other leg. 

“Go--- _ wheeze _ \---see---Hank...Cecelia...,” Wolverine heaved. “Fix---this--- _ wheeze _ \---stop---struggling!”

“Ain’t goin’ with any of you people, you’re all completely out of your damn minds!” Gambit snarled. “This place is even less enjoyable and more nonsensical than the last season of LOST!” His voice had changed. Gambit, with his narrow build and boyish good looks, had an unexpectedly low voice. When he was sweet-talking people, he’d speak even lower, forcing you to concentrate on what he was saying. Lean forward a bit so you caught every word. The next thing you’d know, you’d be nodding along with whatever cockamamie thing he was prattling on about.  _ Yes...yes, let’s watch the  _ entire  _ Harry Potter marathon…now wait just a damn minute! Would you stop  _ **doing** _ that! _

He was not sweet-talking now. He was cursing a blue streak in his strange new voice. He might have mentioned that Wolverine was a two-timing, no-account predator pervert and he’d better not put his filthy hands on Stormy not now, not ever, suggesting that vile things would be done to Wolverine’s anatomy if he didn’t man up and admit he done wrong. Logan clapped a hand over Gambit’s mouth.

Gambit was sweaty. He smelled very strongly of Rogue. Wolverine could smell her sweat too, among other things. Wolverine told his lizard brain to stop, stop right this instant. This slippery, squirming, sweaty, sex-smeared and swearing body was Gambit,  _ Gambit, _ for cripes sake. Gambit _ ,  _ who, even though he had just stuck his tongue in your mouth, and no matter what your other senses tell you, is  _ not _ a woman! And was still a  _ man  _ with whom he’d fought and argued, far more often than they had just sat and shot the shit. Wolverine unconsciously ran his own tongue over his bottom lip, tasted Gambit there still. Gambit threw himself forward, nearly slipping his arms free. Wolverine landed hard on top of the thief. For a moment they were both still.

Gambit spoke quietly: “Is that an adamantium rod in your pocket, Logan, or are you happy to see me?”

Wolverine grimaced. What was this he was feeling? Was he  _ embarrassed _ ? “That’s not...I’m not…We’ll just pretend that didn’t happen.”

There was a sudden crunch of rock nearby and Wolverine heard: “Logan, let him go!”

Wolverine threw himself away from Gambit. Did not turn to look at Rogue, and instead rubbed a hand over his face. On any day, Gambit could turn up the Awkward to eleven and then break off the knob. The man could not be embarrassed. Made to feel shame, yes. But not embarrassment. And he delighted in uncomfortable situations. If he saw you squirm, so much as twitch, he’d press even harder on your discomfort. His favorite target: Rogue, but she’d lately developed an immunity. Kitty was susceptible. Bobby was victimized. Gambit could even make Ororo groan and hide her face in her hands. One time, Bishop put his head down on a table and beat his forehead against its surface for a full thirty seconds. 

Gambit hadn’t just been transfigured. ( _Riddikulus!_ _Dammit, why did Logan_ **know** _that?_ )

Gambit hadn’t just been  **_changed_ ** . He had been given a new superpower. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: summarizing what happens in subsequent chapters is getting harder and harder... OK. Gambit shares his innermost thoughts with Greycrow. Sinister is a creep. Gambit (momentarily) becomes the most popular boy on the island.


	7. Fancy, Orville Peck Version

_ She looked at our pitiful shack and then _

_ She looked at me and took a ragged breath. _

_ “Your Pa's runned off, and I'm real sick, _

_ And the baby's gonna starve to death.” _

  
  


“I thought we weren’t allowed to imprison our fellow mutants?” Remy asked in a dull voice as he was escorted into an eight-by-eight square-foot box of a room. The lighting was recessed, the walls concrete, the cot bolted to the wall, the commode and stainless steel sink likewise on the wall in the corner.

“It’s not a prison,” Greycrow told him, handed him a stack of folded clothing. “It’s a secure containment unit.”

Remy accepted the clothing and stared at Greycrow, his expression blank. 

“Okay, it’s a prison,” Greycrow agreed. “But you won’t be here long. The boss has a council meeting tomorrow afternoon. Pretty sure they won’t let him keep you in here.”

“Where I’m concerned, all bets are off,” Remy told him. “Somehow, what would be common courtesy for anyone else, doesn’t seem to extend to me.”

“I could shoot you in the head, maybe you’ll come back from the Hatchery normal,” Greycrow offered. “Or as normal as you get.”

“I’m thinkin’ I’d rather not chance on them bringin’ me back. There’s maybe one on the QC who’d speak up on my behalf.”

“Sinister?”

“No, I’ve broke too much of his stuff over the years. I was hoping Storm.”

“Well, I got bad news. You’re a fucking ugly woman,” Greycrow informed him.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on my physical appearance,” Remy said. 

“But you’re a pretty, pretty boy,” Greycrow followed up. “Better off in here, in case any of those sex fiends out there get any weird ideas.”

“You might actually be right,” Remy said. “Did Essex let Creed out somehow?”

“Not that I know of,” Greycrow said, black eyes narrowing. “You saw him out there?”

“Saw him. Smelled him.  _ Felt  _ him. I always knew he had a hard on for me,” Remy said.

“Eugh. Too far. But...he does have the tendency to play with his food.”

“Eugh. Too far!”

“Do I win?”

“You may temporarily have the crown. Congrats,” Remy sighed and sat on the cot affixed to the wall. It didn’t seem too bad. He bounced on it. 

Greycrow observed this, shook his head and put a hand over his eyes. Rubbed them in a tired way.

“I’ll show you my tits if you let me escape,” Remy offered.

Greycrow dropped his hand. “Those mosquito bites? Not worth the nickel for that peep show.”

Remy peered down the front of the hospital gown at himself. “My dad told me anything more than a mouthful is just a waste.”

Greycrow snorted. “Your dad sounds like an old pervert.”

“I learned from the master,” Remy said. He unfolded the shirt he’d been given. “These clothes yours?”

“I could bring you some of Empath’s. He likes the same colors you do.”

“You ever heard the expression, that there can be too much of a good thing?” Remy asked.

“I could find you something more form-fitted. But I didn’t think you’d want to wear Kwannon’s panties.”

Remy considered this. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Too far. Here’s your crown back.”

Remy stood again, dropped the hospital gown. Greycrow stood there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “This is totally fucked up.”

Remy pulled up the sweatpants he’d been given. “Not the most fucked up thing t’happen to me, by far.”

“Think your wife ain’t gonna be too happy.”

“But not the  _ unhappiest  _ she’s ever been with me.” Remy pulled the tee-shirt over his head. 

“For once, it’s not you she’s pissed at.”

“Give it a minute. How’s the Light of Your Life, by the way?”

Greycrow didn’t look like he wanted to discuss it, but he finally said: “Going through some shit.”

“I bet,” Remy replied. “Sure it’s probably not going so great for you either. When the person you care most about gets possessed and causes you considerable pain. Not going to go on one’s Lifetime’s Greatest Moments reel.”

Greycrow considered this. “That wasn’t really her.”

“Still, a bit hard to look her in the eye, yeah? Might be she’s wondering why. Feeling alone, abandoned. Maybe needs some company before, y’know, she falls back in with the wrong sort.”

“Maybe you can talk to her.”

“Thinking probably not a good idea.”

“Right, wouldn’t want to re-associate yourself with us, unless you wanted to end up in Essex’s rehab program too.”

Remy frowned. “I was actually thinking it’s my fault y’all ended up under his thumb to begin with and, like a coward, don’t want to confront my unrelenting guilt about it.”

“Huh,” Greycrow quipped.

“Though if you want some advice, I’d say: don’t let your people go anywhere near Magneto. Or Sinister.”

Greycrow stared at Remy now. “They’re not my people. Not anymore.”

Remy continued as if he hadn’t heard, assuming a speculative tone. “Seems weird the one council member Essex is a-feared of is out of the picture, then his favorite pet Jean, the Summer council’s telepath. Then let's say I got a bunch ‘a reformed Marauders hangin’ ‘round who might have a chip on their collective shoulders in regards to the Scientist of Sadism and the Master of Magnetism…”

“Don’t be surprised if Essex suddenly fakes his own death. Marauders make a good diversion, distraction. Maybe get the jump on Magneto. And whoops, did someone misplace that DNA sample? Is it under Erik or Max or Joseph or Magnus….? Oh, dear...musta got lost in the shuffle.”

“You think Essex will make a move?”

“I imagine the council is going the way of an Agatha Christie novel. Now there’s only nine little Indians. No offense. Is that racist?”

“Hell, I dunno.”

“Then the Marauders’ asses are left flappin’ in the wind, tossed into the pit where Creed should be. I mean, that’s what I’d do if I were Essex. Except I wouldn’t screw you all over like that. But hypothetically speakin’, if I  _ did  _ do that...maybe then, I’m more of a Spring, don’tcha think?”

“You do like the color pink.”

“No love lost between me and Frost, tell you what. And me and Shaw, we’d really bring the boom. He has a history with your bossman, too, yeah? Dunno, maybe between him and me, we’d settle a score. Then, so happens, I got a couple in-laws sittin’ over in Winter  _ and  _ Summer. Maybe I’d win Mommie Dearest over, if it was advantageous to her. As for his holiness the Krakoan Pope, I suppose I could rejoin the flock, find my way back to the light. Then there’s my BFF Stormy, we always did have a good partnership. Get along real well.”

“Hypothetically speaking, I guess it’s a good thing you’re not a Winter.”

“I can pull off jewel tones pretty well, but the weather doesn’t suit me. Now, if I were you, I might leave a pointer or two behind, in case it all goes down.”

Greycrow nodded grimly. “Could be he’s listening to all this now.”

“So either I’ve dissuaded him, or given him some pretty good ideas.” Remy sat back down in a hurry. Suddenly, he didn’t feel too well. 

“You gonna throw up?”

Remy swallowed. “Maybe. Essex shot me up with something. Not feeling so hot,” he replied. He also seemed to be sweating profusely. Remy took several deep breaths. Changed the subject: “Speakin’ of shots, it’s not like you to miss.”

“I was giving you a sporting chance,” Greycrow told him.

“And the reasoning behind shooting at Logan?”

“Shits and giggles.”

“You won’t be giggling when he tickles you with his claws, homme,” Remy advised.

“...You don’t look so good, Rem.”

“I think I might throw up now.”

“Should I hold your hair back for you?”

“Like how you let Empath hold you by the short--- _ hauuuagghk _ .”

Remy hadn’t made it to the commode. “Eugh. Not far enough.”

~oOo~

Remy lost track of the days. He thought he might have been there a week, maybe more. As in most things, rules didn’t apply to Remy. Greycrow told him Essex fed the council some malarkey about him helping Remy through this trying time and keeping him under observation, “for his own good.” The council must have agreed that Remy needed a babysitter. The days were broken at intervals with meals and visits from John Greycrow. They passed some time by one-upping one another in games of “You Took It Too Far,” but Remy was nauseated most of the time and Greycrow got tired of holding Remy’s hair for him. 

Worst of all, were the visits from Essex. He’d talk and talk and talk and then jab Remy in the keister with a needle. He suspected the nausea was related to these injections. Remy expected a visit any time now, and at the moment was distracting himself with a book. It was given to Remy as a joke, as it had an image of a broad-chested shirtless man on the cover. John said it was “Chick Lit” and maybe he should get used to it. Turned out, popular romance novels written by women for women were solid blocks of text depicting sexual congress. Remy flicked through the boring parts (the predictable conflict, misunderstandings, jealous ex-boyfriends, snore) and just read the good stuff. He was enjoying the good stuff when the door to his cell slid aside to reveal Doctor Essex.

“Eugh,” Remy groaned.

“The time has come!” Essex pronounced.

“Please tell me I’ll be unconscious for this,” Remy told him.

“Oh, indeed. Come along, you will need to be prepped,” Essex swished himself off in a flamboyant fashion.

Remy trailed after him in a desultatory way. “Can’t you just knock me out right now?”

“You will be under general anesthesia,” Essex said. “I will not put anything to chance.”

“So grateful for your concern,” Remy said dully.

“You are not the one I’m concerned with. But your potential!”

Remy was not too fond of anesthesia, it didn’t always work so well. He had the very vaguest sense of what was going on during the whole debacle. There was bright light and the monotonous drone of Essex talking the entire time, mostly to himself but also to other versions of himself. Time passed strangely too. It stretched long when Essex spoke. But then it seemed in no time at all, he was coming to. He blinked blearily. 

“Were you successful?” asked a tinny voice. That weird android-mutant Nanny must be assisting. 

“I was able to extract nine!” Sinister announced. 

“And that is good?”

“Quite good,” Sinister replied. “What a fertile myrtle.”

_ Oh for the love of… _ Remy thought. He drifted off again. Hearing Nanny’s voice shouldn’t have given him any comfort, but it put him in mind of the time when it was just him and little Stormy. He smiled vaguely to himself. He’d known she wasn’t a child when he met her, never treated her as anything less than an equal partner. But he did feel protective of her, especially when she woke screaming from nightmares (a good portion of them caused by Nanny herself). Stormy wouldn’t like it if he tried to coddle her, so he didn’t. When the bad dreams came though, she’d let herself be held until she stopped shivering. Then he’d give her a hard time, teasing her until she smiled again. She thought he was helping her out of the kindness of his own heart. Really, he was in short supply of both kindness and heart. It was Stormy helping Remy remember what it was like to be a person again, and not a cold-hearted monster, not a Marauder.

Remy was pulled upright by an arm. “You are free to go,” Essex informed him. 

“That’s it?” Remy asked groggily. 

“Oh, poor dear,” Nanny said. “He’s crying!”

“It’s a side-effect of the anesthesia,” Essex said uncaringly, “or the hormones.” He returned to his work without so much as a glance in Remy’s direction as he tottered out the door in a hospital gown. 

“Buh-bye, Shister Minishter…” Remy said groggily. 

He didn’t make it too far before he ran into John again. “How about a shower?” he asked. “You reek.”

“‘Kay,” Remy mumbled, rubbing his hands over his smooth face. “Eugh.”

He made the water as hot as he could stand. Maybe napalm would be better. And some Brain Bleach®  to go along with it. The shower was nicely appointed. Remy washed his hair with some medicinal smelling shampoo. Wondering what it was, he consulted the label. “Volume for fine or thinning hair” it said.  _ Great, exactly what I  _ don’t  _ need _ , Remy thought but was consoled by the fact that Sinister needed special shampoo to maintain his head of hair. 

Remy left Essex’s lair in clothes stolen from Havok (black and more black, which as soon as he got home would be covered in cat fur). It was morning when he left, and people were emerging from buildings and homes, filtering to businesses and restaurants. Remy felt like he was doing the walk of shame. All that was missing was him carrying a pair of broken down high-heeled shoes. He was barefoot anyway. 

People were staring at him, but he was used to that. He sighed. 

“Is that Gambit?”

“Yikes, what did he do to himself this time?”

He had to veer off the sidewalk when he came to a long line of people waiting to enter a restaurant for brunch. Remy reached into the pocket of his appropriated clothes. Retrieved a package he’d stolen from Sinister’s cabinet. Reprising his role as sexual health instructor, he handed a condom to the first person he saw. 

“Rubber?” he asked. The person looked at him for a moment, then accepted the condom with some grateful incredulity.

“Hey, yeah. Thanks!”

“Jimmy hat?” Remy asked the next person.

“What? Where did you get this?”

“I have my sources,” Remy answered. “Anyone else?”

“Oh, hey! Over here!”

“Me!”

“Can I have two?”

“Sorry,” Remy apologized. “Only one per customer. Limited supply. Raincoat? Anyone else? Papa-stopper? Cock sock? French letter?”

He continued down the street and now a small contingent of people followed. He was stopped several times.

“Are you the guy with the condoms?”

He was having an Oprah moment. He announced: “Ev-ery-bod-y gets a con-dohhmm!”

For the first time ever, he was greeted with cheers. Now he knew what it felt like to be the popular kid. 

“LeBeau, what the holy hell happened to you?” a familiar voice asked.

“Oh, hey Jo,” Remy greeted Joanna Cargill. “Love glove?”

“Thanks,” Joanna said, taking the package from him and putting it into her back jeans pocket. She looked him over. “Oh, man…are you...are you  _ okay _ ?”

“Nice of you t’ask,” Remy told her. “I’ve been better. But. I mean, I’m surviving. How’s things shakin’ with you? Enjoying space adventurin’?”

Joanna’s broad shoulders rose and fell. “Yes, I mean---I guess. Spaceship is in the shop. But---.” Her expression was a combination of horror and concern. “So...the hair. Is that part of it too? Because I’ve seen your bed head and it’s never been this bad.”

Remy pointed at his hair, it was jacked to Jesus. “This is unrelated to my other situation.” 

Joanna shook her head. “Let me walk you home,” she said.

“I’m alright,” Remy said. “Don’t let me interrupt your brunch.”

“I don’t  _ brunch _ ,” Joanna told him. “I do drink at breakfast on occasion. By the way, do  _ you  _ need a drink?”

“I should prob’ly get home to the wife,” Remy said, pointing behind him in the general direction of home. 

Joanna made a face, displeased.

“But…,” Remy began. “I could use your help with something.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you happen to know where Logan is?” Remy asked.

Joanna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I saw him earlier making some cryptic grouchy comment before striding off mysteriously into the forest. Typical start to the day.”

“So he’s not in his den?”

“No, don’t think so.”

Remy smiled slyly. “You want to go on a job with me? For old time’s sake?”

Joanna smiled back. “What’s the score?”

“Just helpin’ a friend out, really. We need to quick-stop at a store first, pick up a bottle of Logan’s preferred brand,” Remy told her. “Then we’ll zoom to the moon and do a little shampoo switcheroo.”

She regarded him quizzically. Remy showed her the bottle of shampoo he’d lifted from Essex’s shower. Joanna raised her eyebrows, looked at the shampoo, looked at Remy’s hair. She pursed her mouth in a considering frown, chin wrinkling, then nodded her approval. 

“I like the way your mind works,” Joanna told him.

Remy grinned at her: “You might be the only one. But thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sinister presents his research to the Quiet Council. For some reason, they don’t seem too happy with him...can’t imagine why!
> 
> Enh, if you didn’t know, GC’s former girlfriend Arclight got turned into a zombie by the Goblin Queen and then ate part of Greycrow. 
> 
> Thanks for the hits and the kudos...I know I lost some of you, but as for the rest of you—why are you encouraging my bad behavior? :D
> 
> I’m going to speed this thing along because there’s something else I want to work on that’s a lot more action, and a lot less...whatever it is this is. I wrote a time-travel story, a romance-y romance, a smutty romance, so next genre I’ll try will be action/adventure/detective kinda thing.
> 
> Brain Bleach® is a registered trademark of Nekobaghira, who has suffered greatly from Badfic PTSD. We’re taking monetary contributions to support those who have read something they cannot unread.


	8. Kids

_ She handed me a heart shaped locket that said: _

_ "To thine own self be true." _

_ And I shivered as I watched a roach crawl across _

_ The toe of my high heel shoe. _

  
  


“This is a gross violation of bodily autonomy,” Ororo said angrily. “Unethical and--- _ disturbing _ , to say the least!”

Essex shrugged. “I obtained consent first,” he told the council. “In fact, I have only  _ ever  _ operated on LeBeau with his express permission.”

“Under significant duress!” Ororo responded and there came a rumble of thunder from outside. “Coercion and manipulation. You are a circling vulture, waiting for a victim to fall so that you may pick over the remains!”

“Not a flattering portrait of LeBeau, but you do know him best,” Essex said idly, looking at his nails.

Emma Frost interrupted. “Why would you waste your time? Who would even  _ want  _ Gambit’s genes?”

Essex considered the woman in white from across the council chambers. “Had he not been reared in a cult of mystical thieves he might have gained the knowledge and training to achieve his true potential,” Essex explained. “Instead he was crippled by ignorance and suffered traumatic brain damage.”

“Do you refer to the damage you yourself inflicted on him?” Xavier asked, his tone flat. 

Essex held his hands out, palms raised to the ceiling. “I  _ could _ have just let him raze the planet of all life...but I admit, I was running a bit behind schedule at the time. Wasn’t quite prepared for the purification of the planet’s population.  _ Ahem _ . Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was describing LeBeau’s positives. But perhaps  **Limitless Power** is of  _ no interest _ to some of you!”

“I will regret saying this...but,  _ go on _ ,” Exodus said. 

Essex’s expression of arrogant superiority shifted slightly to pleased superiority. “Ladies, am I correct in describing Monsieur LeBeau’s appearance, his physique, and not to mention the enviable head of hair…to be somewhat  _ attractive _ ?” He looked over at Kate and moved his eyebrows up and down. “A profile that could grace stamped currency. Legs for days, and a posterior that should never be sat upon. And prior to his recent...ah, accident...an above average sized---.”

“Sinister, that is quite enough,” Magneto said.

Emma waved her hand. “Oh, please. We’ve  _ all _ seen Gambit naked.”

Kate nodded. So, strangely, did Shaw. Kate looked at him askance. “What? Really?”

“Late nineties. Hellfire Club masquerade night. He was wearing a colombina---only---but he was instantly recognizable,” Shaw said.

“Oh right, the eyes,” Kate affirmed.

Shaw shook his head. “No, by the shape and size of---.”

Magneto stood, put his hands on the table before him. “I reiterate: that is quite enough.”

Emma continued: “We know what we’re working with here. And I could begrudgingly agree with Essex on that one point.”

Shaw insisted: “I was going to say ‘mole on his buttock.’”

Kurt was rubbing his furry face with both hands. “Mein gott.”

“Was it not your idea to  _ make more mutants _ ?” Essex asked Kurt (rhetorically, he didn’t really want an answer). “We can pair LeBeau’s ‘contributions to society’ with another of superior intellect to make up for his lack.”

“This is sounding like eugenics to me,” Kurt said, upset.

“Yes! It is!” Essex agreed. “Glad we’re on the same page. It is not as if there are alternatives, what with a limited and isolated populace. My next suggestion would be to maintain a record of who is schtupping whom,” here he glanced over at Magneto and winked when he used the word ‘schtupping’, “so that we can keep track of any resulting offspring. From there, a publicly-facing genealogical record for every mutant on the island. Can’t immediately find ourselves pairing off with cousins and half-siblings considering a quarter of the population has a surname of ‘Summers.’ Now, I have here a table of suggestions for potential combinations that would result---.”

“No. Nein. Stop,” Kurt said. 

“Given the population size,” Xavier began. “It would be unwise to have Gambit father---.”

“Mother,” Sinister corrected.

Xavier sighed, exhausted. 

“I’d given it some thought,” Essex said. “To differentiate LeBeau’s progeniture...I’m thinking, some kind of  **branding** to designate my creations. I’m mocking up some logotypes. We can do a focus group on my ideas at our next council meeting. Workshop a few catchy slogans!”

“Absolutely not!” Magneto shouted. “We are not  _ branding  _ anyone!”

“This is a disaster,” Kurt moaned. 

“About this Limitless Power---,” Exodus interrupted. 

“Let’s take out the part about the branding and the ethics of your---of what you did to Gambit,” Kurt said. 

“I cannot overlook these facts,” Ororo said darkly.

“This could be an opportunity for couples struggling with infertility to bear children of their own,” Kurt suggested. “So long as all affected parties acknowledge that this is an agreed upon  _ choice _ . Remy  _ and _ Anna.”

“Oh, so we’re only talking about  _ couples _ , are we?” Mystique snapped. 

Kurt opened his mouth. “I am just making an---.”

“You said he could raze the entire planet?” Exodus asked. “How many---contributions---did you procure from LeBeau?”

“Nine!” Essex said excitedly. “I was telling myself---.”

“Enough for a baseball team.”

“I think he’s better at basketball.”

“Don’t you mean ‘she’?”

“I think Remy’s pronouns are still he/him.”

“This is another matter,” Ororo exclaimed. “Returning Remy to his true form. I would like an update on your progress on that front.”

“He’s much more useful as a woman,” Essex repeated. “I wouldn’t describe his hips as ‘child-bearing,’ but with additional hormone treatments…”

A crack of thunder momentarily silenced the chamber. “I will not be party to this discussion any longer,” Ororo said into the echoing silence. “I will take my leave and this matter will be tabled for now.”

After Ororo strode off, the various cross-discussions and arguing continued. Mystique turned to Essex. Crooked a finger at him. He paused mid-pontification and sat in his chair. He told her: “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me.”

“No one was listening to you,” Mystique told him. “But I would like to express my interest.”

Essex gave her a speculative look, computing possible genetic possibilities in his messed-up mind. “In a surrogacy?”

Mystique nodded. 

Essex must have reached some conclusion, because he nodded slightly. “And who would you propose as a sire?”

Mystique smiled. “Me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Sex on the beach. Actually contains no explicit content, sorry.
> 
> Wow, I can't believe y'all are still "kudos-ing" this mess. LOL. Thank you, it's much appreciated.


	9. I'll Never Fall In Love Again

_It sounded like somebody else was talkin'_

_Askin', "Mama, what do I do?"_

_She said: "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy,_

_They'll be nice to you."_

  
  


Logan was standing on the beach, hip-deep in the water, idly casting and recasting a fishing line into the waves and gnawing on a cigar. Greycrow wasn’t too far away doing much the same thing (he had a stub of a cigarette stuck on his lower lip). Logan tolerated his presence, only because the man spoke for the most part in monosyllabic grunts. Also he was the only one who had made an halfhearted effort to tell Anna that her husband was okay. Probably not for Anna’s benefit though. Logan had the vaguest sense that Remy and Greycrow were...friends? Logan didn’t understand the dynamic there, only that Remy seemed to gravitate to the damaged, the recalcitrant, the angry, the lost, the lonely, and the sad. It was probably a case of misery loving company.

The person in question was slowly walking up the beach in their direction now, the setting sun behind him casting a long shadow. Logan hadn’t seen him for a while, but that wasn’t so unusual. He gave Remy a glance and returned his attention to his fishing line. Remy stopped just before he’d reached Greycrow and watched the two men in silence for a moment. 

“Catch anything?” Remy asked, his voice carried away by the sounds of surf and the constant breeze off the water.

“Nah, nothing biting,” Greycrow responded, gave Remy a look. “This might be the first time I’ve seen you willingly put on a shirt.”

Remy replied: “Least _my_ shirts come with two sleeves.”

Logan cast him another look. It was true, Remy was wearing a basic men’s white cotton top. A pair of ragged camo-colored shorts sat higher up on his hips than they normally would. Remy’s arms were crossed. The muscles of his upper body were much the same, not the least bit feminine. Logan thought you might not be able to tell he’d been changed unless you looked real close. And nobody but Rogue had been...well, not entirely true, Logan had been a little too close.

“Where’s your better half?” Logan asked. You’d see Anna around the island, solo, but never Remy without Rogue. 

Remy nodded up the beach, pointing with his chin. Logan turned, saw Anna in the distance. She was putting down a blanket on the sand just beside some rocky tidal pools. Logan watched as she bent and placed a few rocks on the blanket’s corners to keep it from blowing away. 

“You haven’t prettied yourself up any,” Greycrow said. “Rogue not given you any tips?”

“We got different sensibilities when it comes to style,” Remy said. 

“She could lend you a razor at least,” Greycrow remarked.

“I’m not about to shave my legs.”

“Did she tell you to stop wearing so much pink?” Logan asked.

Remy laughed. “Did John tell you we met in a county lockup?” 

Logan was confused by this statement. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was painted pink,” Greycrow said. “Drunk-tank pink.”

“I exploded us outta there,” Remy said. “Ended up covered in pink dust. Thought, hey if it calms violent criminals down, why not?”

“Didn’t calm you down,” Greycrow observed.

“Not too many things do.”

“Different shade of pink, maybe? Rogue gonna calm you down?”

“Too far.” Remy threw a seashell in Greycrow’s direction.

“Stop scaring the fish,” Logan complained to distract himself from the images that had just popped into his mind, in shades of soft pink.

“You’re keeping your lady waiting,” Greycrow said. “And probably _wanting_ too.”

“She still thinks I’m enough man, even without the attachment feature.”

“She was the one wearing the pants to begin with.”

“Damn, gotta get out of the sun. I’m burnt,” Remy laughed. Logan thought if it were anyone else making those comments, they’d have moved out of range of Gambit’s throwing arm. Greycrow just stood there smirking.

“Later, boys,” Remy said and ambled off down the beach in Anna’s direction. “Don’t stay in there too long, John. Your balls’ll rust.”

“Problem you have with balls of steel.”

Logan was already reeling in his line, giving up. He turned his head to watch as Remy met with Anna. She stood as he approached, pulled her beach coverup over her head and tossed it onto the blanket. Remy’s body obscured her from view. They were two small figures, lit up golden in the last rays of sunlight. Remy doffed his clothing, left it with Anna’s on the blanket. Then the two of them waded into the water, holding hands. Neither wore a swimsuit. Once they were partially submerged, they turned to one another, bodies pressing close. Anna had her arms around Remy’s neck and he twirled her body, made weightless in the saltwater, in lazy circles. Even from a distance, it was apparent they were kissing. Anna’s legs came around Remy’s waist.

“Damn,” Greycrow said, a note of appreciation in his tone. 

Logan forced himself to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Rogue reminisces. Also, the couple makes some time together. Since Gambit is a man, body parts or not, I can't really say that it is F/F. Unless the Fs stand for Freakin'/Foolin' Around.


	10. Something in the Way He Moves

_ She said: "Here's your chance, Fancy, don't let me down. _

_ Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down. _

_ Lord, forgive me for what I do. _

_ But if you want out, well, it's up to you. _

_ Now don't let me down now, _

_ Your momma's gonna move you uptown. _

  
  


The first time Gambit laid eyes on her, Rogue gave him a surly look and showed him a raised fist in warning. He’d very blatantly swept his gaze over her body, smiling in a perversely appreciative way before looking her in the face with a smirk that said:  _ me likey _ .

She was going to launch that boy into orbit.

He occasionally did chivalrous things, offering her his coat, a hand up from a fall, defense in a Danger Room scenario. She pointedly told him she didn’t need his help, that she was nigh invulnerable and to  _ back the hell off. _ But he didn’t, and when looking turned to touching, even on the outside of her clothes, she knocked him flat. It was inappropriate,  _ he _ was inappropriate. Remy made her  _ so mad _ . Mad at him. Mad at herself. Because she  _ liked  _ the way he looked at her, his gaze hot and possessive. It was almost like being touched, the way his eyes lingered on her lips, her neck, her breasts. 

_ Pervert _ , she told herself.  _ He’s a pervert. _

He’d been showboating around the Danger Room one day, acting like the fool he was. Rogue was distracted when he got himself blown up. She was hit with some random laserfire and the front of her top was sliced through. She didn’t realize. Rogue bent down to help Gambit from the wreckage. He was annoyingly not hurt at all, and his eyes fell to her exposed cleavage. He grinned. She let the wreckage drop back onto him.

Later, in her bedroom, while she sat on her bed pulling off her boots, she glanced up at herself in the standing mirror. Saw straight down the front of her own torn uniform.

“Like what you see, do you?” she asked her reflection. Rogue bit her middle finger glove tip, tugged it from her right hand with her teeth. Took it from her mouth, then slowly pulled off her left glove, finger by finger. Dropped both gloves to the ground. She then pulled off the headband holding her hair back from her face. Fluffed her sweaty hair with both hands. She stood and looked into the mirror. Shrugged her jacket from her shoulders so it fell to her forearms. Then cast the jacket aside where it fell onto a nearby chair, obscuring the dolls and teddy bears that sat watching her there. Her belt and communicator joined it. 

Rogue unclasped the button on the neck of her uniform. Owing to the tear across the chest, the zipper was useless. “Looks like mah uniform’s ruined,” she said to herself, and slowly pulled the uniform apart, splitting the zipper down past her navel. It made a soft ripping sound as it parted, revealing more of her body.

“Ah bet you’d like to see more?” she asked and slipped her arms free of the sleeves. She took the band of her sports bra in both hands and pulled it over her head. “Ah know you like these. Take a good look.”

Rogue took her breasts in both hands, cradled their weight in her palms. With eyes half-lidded, she watched herself press her own nipples between finger and thumb, drawing a sharp inhalation from her throat. She let her hands trail down her body to where her uniform lay splayed open over her full hips. She turned her back to her reflection then, but cast her gaze over her shoulder. She shimmied out of her uniform, bending at the waist. Stepped out of it one leg at a time. Kicked the torn thing across the floor. Rogue asked: “You like the look of this, too?” and ran her hands over her bottom. She slowly slipped her panties halfway down, revealing the top of her buttocks. “Ah bet you do.” She folded again, taking her panties to the floor. 

“Ah have something else you’d like to see,” Rogue told her imaginary guest. She sat on her bed, put her hands to her knees, and parted her legs. “What do you think of this?”

She lay back onto the mattress, ran her hands up in the insides of her thighs. She imagined his eyes on her now. Rogue’s fingers moved between her legs. “I want you to look at me,” she whispered. Usually, this sort of thing just led to frustration. But imagining Remy’s eyes on her made it so much better. There was a time that Magnus had looked at her...she’d been flattered, pleased. As he wanted her to be. But she hadn’t been aroused. Rogue let herself sigh and moan. She imagined she was giving Remy a show. Then she thought, maybe he’d touch himself, too. Rogue didn’t know what that would look like, not really. But she could picture his dark gaze, see him bare-chested, imagine his hand working between his legs. 

She thought that might have been the first time she’d brought herself to orgasm. 

She’d tempt his gaze again and again, it gave her a thrill. It wasn’t until years later, that she’d recall the Daisy Dukes and the bustier top. She’d said she didn’t know what she was thinking wearing that outfit. That was a lie. She was thinking:  _ look at me. _

Deeper than that:  _ I can make you want me. _

A page out of her own mother’s playbook. Rogue told herself she was only teasing him back, giving him a taste of his own medicine. At some point, she got his full attention, not just his eyes. He didn’t oggle her anymore, he looked right at her. He wanted her all right, and not just a peep show. He wanted her love, her forgiveness; he wanted her all to himself. And it was too much. He was too much. Remy always did take it too far. She was way out of her depth. Rogue was smitten, then head over heels. She was also naive, she was inexperienced, she was playing with fire.

She made it like it was all or nothing; we can’t touch, we can’t be together. But it was all or nothing with him, not that he could help it, not entirely. And he was...a lot. All the baggage, all the problems, all the pain. And there was always something else with him. More piled on. The force of his personality threatened to grind her beneath its wheels and she’d already been through that before. She’d be a bit character in her own story. 

Then he recast himself. 

He followed her, let her take the lead. He pined, waiting on her always. He gave a lot, asked for little in return. Maybe he took it too far. Now she wondered if he’d given too much of himself. How much more until there was nothing left, nothing of that man who once teased her and made her blush, who was as seductive as he was dangerous? Was he gone, or just hiding?

Anna went to check in on Remy again. She hadn’t seen him for over a week now. She felt helpless and impotent. Now she had an idea of what it must have been like for him when she was asleep for so long, when she was in the Braddock Lighthouse. Instead of finding Remy, she found the Marauder---or Hellion now---Greycrow, sitting on the front steps, rolling a cigarette. 

He looked up at her from under his brows as she approached. “You missed him,” she was informed.

“He’s---he’s out? Sinister let him go? Did you see where he went?” Anna asked.

Greycrow nodded down the street. “Saw him heading that way with the bull-dyke.”   
  


Rogue scowled. “First of all, I don’t know who you’re talkin’ about. And second, be ashamed of yourself.”

He gave her a wry twist of his lips. “Cargill. Never understood why he’d climb that particular tree. Her Adam’s apple is bigger’n his.”

“You’re disgusting,” Rogue said, watching as he licked the rolling paper and finished crafting his cigarette.

“You think that’s bad, you shoulda heard some of the stuff that’d come out of LeBeau’s mouth back in the day. Once or twice, I might have wondered what made him so cold. Maybe he was born that way.”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Anna snapped. From Mattie and Jean-Luc, she knew Remy to be a  _ different  _ child, ornery, precocious, half-feral, but still very good-hearted.

Greycrow sat back, lit his cigarette with an old brass Zippo. “It coulda been his guild cutting him out like he was a cancer at eighteen, once they decided he was more trouble than he was worth. Coulda been he cut himself off from feeling anything, so he didn’t blow his own top.” Greycrow shrugged. “Who knows? He ended up with the likes of me, and maybe if Creed didn’t literally cut him to pieces, he’d be there still.”

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this,” Anna told herself. She turned to walk away.

“I’m not telling you this just to piss you off, Rogue,” Greycrow said to her back. “Only that you’re the one who bothered to show. Haven’t seen any of the other so-called friends of his.”

“You are hardly the person to pass judgement on other people,” Anna snapped. 

“Am I judging, or just calling it as I see it?” Greycrow didn’t really ask. “Anyway, LeBeau’s gone.”

“How long ago?”

“From here? ‘Bout an hour. Maybe you ought to cut him loose. You’d be doing him a favor. What’s he got left to give you anyway?”

Furious, Anna jabbed her finger in his direction. “You are  _ vile _ . And that’s not how marriage works.”

Greycrow let out a stream of smoke, waved a hand dismissively to show how little he cared. “That’s not how  _ LeBeau  _ works. He’ll be back. He always comes back, one way or another.”

~oOo~

Ororo was on the front porch, holding an enamel pot in her hands. Anna opened the door for her and invited her inside.

“I brought coconut red bean soup,” Ororo told her. “I might have made it a bit too spicy for most people.”

Anna smiled and accepted the pot. “Thanks, ‘Ro.” 

Ororo took a tea-towel wrapped package from the bag slung over her shoulder. “There is bread as well.”

“That’s so nice of you,” Anna said. “You want to come sit? Can I get you something to drink? Tea?...I mean, sweet tea. We don’t have the other stuff.”

Ororo declined the offer with a smile, and sat at their kitchen table where Anna placed the bread. Ororo’s eyes took in their home’s interior. “Is Remy not here?”

Anna nodded, looked upward. “He’s sleeping. Been sleeping a while now. I don’t think he got much rest, at Sinister’s place. I know he’ll appreciate having something to eat once he wakes up.”

Ororo frowned. “I am absolutely appalled by what has happened,” she shook her head. “Forge creating solutions to problems we did not have. The general nonchalance and dismissive attitude of certain members of our council...it is so discouraging.”

“I know Remy appreciates having you in his corner,” Anna said. “For now, he’s safe, he’s home. Though it was hard enough to get him to leave the house before. Now he’ll be a recluse.”

“He has the tendency to isolate himself when he is troubled,” Ororo said. “I have not seen much of him in recent weeks. Has something happened?”

Anna sighed and lifted her shoulders. “He said he was practicing social distancing. Pretty sure he was being facetious.”

Ororo put her hand on Anna’s wrist. “Convince him to join us next Friday evening. There will be a cookout. I will not force my company on him if he does not wish it. But I would like to see him.”

“I dunno…,” Anna hedged. “I’ll float it by him.”

Ororo stood. “I will leave you to your quiet. Please tell him I miss him, and will work to an expedient solution. For both of you.”

Anna bid Ororo farewell and after closing the door, put the soup away in the refrigerator. She went upstairs with a glass of water. Remy was still sleeping, his back to the wall, arms folded over a pillow clutched to his chest. The cats were happy to have a body to sleep on during the daytime. Oliver was on Remy’s pillow, blinking happily and making kitty biscuits in Remy’s hair. She didn’t like to bother Remy while he slept, sometimes he would startle. But he hadn’t had any water in some time. She sat on the bed and gently touched his shoulder. 

“Mais arrête-euh. Non. Non, pas ce soir,” he whispered, still asleep. 

“S’okay, Remy. I have some water for you,” Anna told him. “Just sit up for a sec, drink this.”

Remy blinked at her and half sat up, dislodging the cats. “What’s...what time is it?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Anna offered him the glass. “You just drink this and sleep as long as you want.”

He blearily obeyed. Laid back down and closed his eyes. Rogue put the empty glass aside and lay down beside him. The room was mostly dark, but small lines of sunlight escaped from the blinds to fall across the foot of the bed. She looked at his sleeping face, mostly the same, but unsettlingly young-looking. His hair in recent times had been shorter than it had ever been. It was still the same, but now a tousled mess. Still had those enviable eyelashes. Thick dark eyebrows that could have used a bit more separation (he wouldn’t let Anna pluck them, even though it drove her crazy) over a Gallic nose that would have looked incongruous on any other face. He still had his same mouth, with the fuller lower lip. But there was none of his trademark stubble darkening his sharp jaw. 

Anna wasn’t tired, but she stayed beside him anyway. He seemed to sleep better when she was there. 

He acted his same self over the next few days. They were sitting out on the front porch that evening, the music from the record player drifted through the open windows. Anna stood from her chair. “You want I should put together something to eat?” she asked. 

Remy moved to stand. “I can help.”

Anna waved him back. “You just sit back and relax,” she told him. His expression flickered to something like pain. “You alright?” 

He smiled, the expression vanished. “Weh. Let me help with dinner.”

“Since you’ve been doing most of the cooking, you musta forgot I am a more than capable chef. Anyhow, I can just reheat the rest of that soup if that’s okay with you. Or...or we could go out?”

“The soup’s more’n fine. I’ll ask Stormy for the recipe,” he said and sat back in his chair, returned to his paperback. 

“Maybe you can ask her Friday?” Anna suggested.

“Hm…,” Remy said and slouched in his chair to put his feet up on the railing. “Yeah, maybe.”

“What on Earth are you readin’?” she asked, looking at the cover of his book, a worried line appearing between her brows.

“Did you know these books are basically porn?” he asked idly, still staring into the pages. 

Anna gave a small laugh. “I have familiarized myself with the genre.”

“This one’s werewolf porn. I hope they don’t do it doggie style. Beastiality is not my cup of tea,” Remy said dryly. 

Rogue shook her head. “I think I prefer you readin’ Harry Potter.”

“Hm…” Remy said, engrossed. 

Anna put the soup on the stovetop. Warmed the rest of the flatbread in the oven. Fed the kittens while she was thinking of it and turned the record over to side B. They ate their leftovers on the deck, looking out over the still water that made up their front yard. 

He took her empty bowl from her and before she could protest, went back into the kitchen. Remy stood at the sink and began running water to wash the plates. Anna joined him, brought the empty pot over to the sink. “I got this,” he said.

Anna stood behind him, put her arms around his waist and hugged him from behind while he worked. “Should probably return Ororo her pot,” Anna murmured into his shoulder. “Do you want to stop by her place tomorrow?”

“I might pull up weeds from the garden, though why I bother, I don’t know. I don’t think any of our normal food is growin’ too well in this place.”

“Hm, I think you might just be tickin’ off the island, sugar,” Anna said and kissed the back of his neck. “We could go for a walk on the beach?”

“Did Jean-Luc happen to call while I was---out?” Remy asked, ignoring her request.

Anna put her hands on his shoulders. “No, I haven’t heard from him. Your neck’s all fulla knots.”

He flexed his shoulder blades and rocked his head on his neck from side to side. “Feel a bit stiff... I should prob’ly check in with him.”

“Everything okay?” She asked and pressed her thumbs into his shoulders.

“Wow, that hurts.”

“For your own good,” Anna told him. The knot made a clicking noise as she rubbed it. “How’d you get yourself in such a bind?”

Remy set the now clean pot onto the draining board and dried his hands on a dishtowel. After allowing her to knead his neck for a bit, he turned to face her. “Allo,” he said and grinned. “Is that a full moon I see? Grrr...”

Anna smiled up at him, pressed her forefinger in between his brows. “Maybe stay out of the moonlight, sugar, before you end up with just the one.”

Remy raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively. When he kissed her it was with heat and intent. That was the same. Her lips parted to receive his, her arms tightened around his neck. Maybe this part could be the same, too. She led him upstairs. 

Anna made him sit on the bed. Then she slowly took off her clothes for him, her blouse unbuttoned, jeans slid down her legs. Showed him her matching cream-colored panties and bra before lowering the bra straps and sliding one cup down, then the other. Anna put her thumbs to the waistband of her underwear. “More?”

He held his hands out to her. She stepped slowly towards him and he took her by the waist. He pulled one leg towards him so she partially knelt on the bed. Remy pulled Anna into his lap. Kissed her deeply before turning her to her side, then onto her back. His hands and mouth found her breasts. Her hands threaded themselves into his hair. He moved lower, and that was the same. He kissed her through the thin fabric of her panties. 

“Remy…,” she breathed. She put her hands on his shoulders, stopping him. “Come here.”

He looked up at her from where he knelt on the floor. Slowly, he crawled upwards toward her, bracing himself on his elbows. He kissed her mouth. Anna’s hands slid over his toned shoulders and down his arms. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt and pushed their way upwards under the fabric. His tightly-muscled stomach was smooth, hairless. Anna moved her way up. Remy moved her hands aside, lay atop her, pressing her tightly against him. Kissing him still, Anna’s foot slid up the back of his leg, then she wrapped her legs around his waist. With her heel she nudged him closer. He pulled away. His hand was between her legs, stroking her through her underwear. He slid her panties to the side to touch her with his fingers. She gasped against his mouth. Her own hands moved over the front of his shirt and he made a small sound. Momentarily broke from her to move her hand to his waist. Her fingers traced his waistband, moved lower, between his legs. He stopped her again.

“Don’t,” he breathed.

“Won’t you let me touch you?” she asked.

She saw his eyes glowing in the darkness, studying her face. “Not like that,” he finally told her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly. She thought it might be okay, anyway. She was willing to try.

“I just want to feel close to you,” he said softly. “Please.”

Anna nodded slightly. “Okay.” He continued to kiss her. His hands moved over her body. Anna closed her eyes, felt him touch her in ways that would normally make her move herself under his hands until she was moaning. But this part was not the same. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly when she didn’t respond. 

“No,” she answered. “I want…”

He moved himself so he laid beside her now. “I’m sorry.”

Anna shook her head, impatient with his needless apology. “I just want...to touch you back. It’s not the same if I can’t touch you, too.”

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I don’t want...”

She turned to face him, pressed her hand to the side of his face. “It’s okay. I understand. Let’s just...hold each other?”

He kissed her gently. They moved up onto the bed, lay their heads on their pillows. Anna pulled his arms around her, moved herself until their bodies were flush. She felt his breath soft and warm in her hair. She was still wearing her panties, he was still dressed in a tee-shirt and shorts. The space between them was very apparent. She could feel him tense under her hands, feeling like he was lacking. “Do you trust me?” she whispered.

“Tuna noodle casserole,” he said.

Anna blinked, looked up at him. “What?”

“Ask a silly question, get a silly answer.”

Anna smiled. She kissed him gently, pressed his shoulder so he rolled to his back. She moved over his body, kissing his face, the corner of his mouth, his smooth chin. As she brought her body against him, she pressed her core to his hip. Slid her thigh between his legs. Anna gently bit his lower lip. She kissed him, moved up and down, rubbing herself against his hip and thigh. She let out a sigh. Remy’s arms moved around her, took her hips in his hands. He began moving her against himself. She was rewarded with a soft ‘oh’ as she pressed herself more firmly into his heat. Anna rocked against him, feeling warmth building between her legs. Remy responded, his hand gripping the back of her thigh to press her hard against himself, fingers just coming up against her sex. 

“Oh, god,” she said against his mouth. They both were panting slightly. “Don’t stop.”

He turned her then, was on top of her body. They moved themselves against one another, arhythmic, seeking out the firmness of a hip, the hard press of a thigh. He made a sound like a half-frustrated growl. Anna reached towards the nightstand. “Remy…” she whispered. “In the drawer.”

“Mnn,” he pressed his face into her neck, his breath hot on her neck. He shook his head slightly.

“Let me show you,” she whispered. He allowed her to sit up slightly. She pulled the massager he’d bought her from the drawer. She smiled slyly at him in the darkness. “It’s fun,” she assured him. “I just hope it still has enough charge left.”

“What have you been up to, naughty girl?” he said and she could feel the curl of his smile against her shoulder.

“Just watch,” she whispered and shifted so he was between her legs now. “Move yourself on over.”

She held it between them now, turned it on. He let out a sharp breath. “It’s nice…?” she asked. 

“Oh, I’m... _ oh _ ,” he pulled away.

“Come back here,” she ordered. “Press against me.”

Anna made short work of it then, tightened her body and released as he pressed against her again and again. When she tensed once more, she felt herself cresting that hill, let herself relax into it for a moment before going over the edge. She let out a short, hard groan before going silent, gasping as she came. She saw his eyes on her, watching her face. His own eyes glowed like banked coals. She heard his shuddering intake of breath. Remy abruptly pressed himself firmly against the vibrator and her body, held himself there. His face turned into the pillow beside her head. She felt him shudder, give a soft moan. When he stilled, Anna turned off the massager and placed it back into the drawer. 

Anna sighed languidly, content under his weight. “Y’okay, Remy?” she asked softly.

“I might have ruptured something,” he said. “In my brain. I saw stars anyway.”

He rolled onto his back. 

“It felt good, though, right?” she asked.

He swallowed. Nodded. “Felt like….felt like when we used t’fool around in your room. Back at Xavier’s School.”

“That frustrating, hunh?” Anna asked.

Remy shook his head. “No. I wasn’t frustrated. I liked it.”

Anna turned onto her side to face him. “I thought it just made you hot and bothered.”

“You could bother me all you want. No. I never touched a girl like that before.”

She propped herself on her elbow. “You’re joking. Of course you did.”

“Nah. Never just messed around for---fun.”

Anna pushed his hair back from his face. “You and Belle?”

Remy shrugged. “Made out, sure. But not the backseat-of-a-car-through the clothes stuff, not without sealing the deal. Neither of us was innocents when we met. Knew how the plumbing worked. Should’a been playing LEGOs or something, not doing that. But we figured it was just something people did, as people did to us. Like a secret handshake.”

“I wish it hadn’t been that way for you,” Anna told him, feeling something anxious inside. Thinking that being sexualized as a child was truly a horrid and traumatizing thing, and not anything he’d gone into detail about before.

“What can I say, I was born guilty,” Remy told her. She couldn’t tell from the cadence of his tone just how he felt or what he was thinking. 

“I always thought...us foolin’ around...it wasn’t enough for you,” Anna admitted. 

He turned his head to look at her. “Maybe,” he murmured. “There’s no such thing as ‘less is more’ when it comes to me.”

Anna smiled, moved her head forward across the pillow to kiss his shoulder.

“I guess I also had this thought that even though we couldn’t get down, you’d still want to be with me---and not just for that. But...maybe not. I know you wanted more.”

“I didn’t just want you for sex,” she told him quietly. “You’re more than that. More than enough, Remy,” 

“Some would say...I’m a lot.”

Anna breathed out a laugh. “More to love.”

“I dunno about that. Feelin’ considerably  _ less than _ right now.”

“It’s going to be okay. It’ll be alright,” she assured him. “Whatever happens. If you want...we can go now, leave the island. We can get the kitties in their carrier and just go.”

He seemed to mull this over. “Depends. How much antiseptic and bandages do we have?” he said jokingly. 

“I’m serious, Remy.”

“I believe you, chère. Let’s just give it a week or two,” Remy said. 

“You trust Sinister, to fix this mess?”

“Not in the least. I just need to think.”

“No offense, sugar, but...you’re  _ thinking _ ?”

“Doctor Drumm says my impulsivity is linked to my regressive behavior,” Remy answered. “My desire for a time when decisions were easier and consequences less catastrophic.”

“I’m so proud of you, Remy,” Anna told him, and the emotion that came with that statement was enough to tighten her throat. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Anna,” he said. “Why don’t we go to the beach tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.”

Anna set out the blanket on the sand. Found four surf-worn rocks to put on the corners. Anna sat down. The wind off the water set the blanket rippling, tugged her coverup and sent her ponytail fluttering. She saw Remy coming down the beach. He stopped and talked to Logan and that awful, awful Greycrow. Then he came towards her, a silhouette on the shoreline. Maybe there was the faintest dip in his waist where there wasn’t before, his hips slightly wider. When he came closer and his features more apparent, she saw his smile was the same. As he approached, she stood, pulled off her coverup and dropped it to the blanket. She wasn’t wearing anything else. 

“Want to go swim?” she asked.

He lifted his shirt, drew down his shorts. His clothes joined hers. Anna took his hand and they walked into the waves. Anna’s arms came around him, and he lifted her in the water the way a groom carries a bride. He spun her in a slow circle. She kissed him, pressed her body to his. When she wrapped her legs around him, she felt the difference, but it was okay. He was still himself.

“I’m not about to do it out-of-doors again,” he told her with a smile, eyes intent on hers. “Plus, I think we got an audience.”

Rogue nipped his lips with her own. Her hands moved over his chest, and he sucked in a small breath. She whispered: “Let them look.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: things get hot at the cookout.


	11. If You Gotta Make a Fool of Somebody

_ Well, that was the last time I saw my ma _

_ The night I left that rickety shack. _

_ ‘Cause the welfare people came and took the baby, _

_ Momma died and I ain't been back. _

  
  


It was a sultry evening, lit by the golden glow of torches surrounding the long tables set up for the cookout. A few grills burned some kind of pseudo meat product and what might have been kinda-corn. A boiled starch passed for potato salad. Logan was less than thrilled with the fare. He was seated at one table, for the moment alone, but not for long. Bobby deposited his plate beside Logan and joined him. 

“Drake,” he acknowledged. 

“Hey,” he said and downed a half a glass of ice water. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a fan, or better yet, some AC.”

The heat and the gathering sweating bodies mixed with the scent of the food. Logan thought it helped with the flavor of his burger, at least. He scanned the other mutants who came in pairs or groups to join the food line, then disperse to tables. The sounds of various voices mixed with the din from a nearby live band. Logan scanned the crowd, looking for Ororo and Kurt, who should be leaving a council meeting. At the same time, he had his eye out for Jean and Scott. He thought he should probably put that to bed...and not in  _ that _ sense of the word. 

“Whoa,” Bobby said. “There’s Gambit. I didn’t realize---geez. I guess I was expecting him to, I don’t know, have big boobs or something.”

“Can it, Drake.”

“Instead he just looks...younger? This is very annoying to me.”

Remy drew stares, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was used to drawing attention to himself with his voice, his behavior, his clothing, his provocations. Few saw past the act. Logan could join the fewer still who knew better to ignore him. That’s what he told himself he was doing anyway.

A voice behind Logan gave a wolf whistle and said: “Hubba hubba!” It came from another person who should be ignored.

“I don’t see Rogue anywhere,” Bobby said, scanning the crowd. “Dang, I wonder how she’s taking it.”

Logan grunted by way of an answer, recalling seeing Remy and Anna in the water. Then later, entwined on their blanket on the beach. And in the past week, finding them in other previously secluded places on the island, making out like a couple of horned-up teenagers. Hilltops where they were exposed, rutting against each other by the lake, making their way to third base in the corner of the bar. Logan stuffed a quarter of his burger into his mouth, trying to distract himself. 

Remy had two plates of food in his hands, his dark gaze drifted over the tables. Probably looking for Rogue. His eyes briefly took in Logan and Bobby at their nearly empty table before he moved on. He missed Joanna approaching him from behind, nudging him with her elbow to his bicep as she passed. She nodded her braided head in Logan and Bobby’s direction. A grin had lit up Remy’s face when he saw her. It dimmed somewhat when he saw her indicate their table. 

“Let’s sit over here,” Joanna said. “It’s crowded everywhere else.”

“Hey, these seats are saved,” Bobby said.

“No save-sies,” Joanna said and put her plate down, stepped over the bench to sit. She was a bit awkward about it, as she was wearing a loose bright blue and black striped dress. Logan could not recollect a time he’d ever seen the woman in anything distinctly feminine.

Remy leaned forward to place his plates on the table. He was wearing a men’s white linen shirt, left unbuttoned. Remy stepped over the bench. He had some sort of batik-printed fabric wrapped around his waist. The partial concealment of his body only served to draw the curious eye, to wonder about what it was you  _ weren’t  _ seeing. It was clear Remy had dressed this way intentionally. Logan managed to glimpse Bobby’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. Bobby closed his eyes.

“Seriously, did  _ not  _ need to see that,” Bobby muttered. Apparently, Remy was sans underwear.

Logan drew in a breath through his nose.

“What is this, are you wearing the curtains like Scarlett O’Hara?” Joanna asked Remy. 

Remy laughed. “Stormy gave me this,” he told her. “It’s pink with cats on.”

“Think those are supposed to be panthers,” Joanna was looking down at the fabric.

“I like your frock,” he told her. “Strange, only times I ever seen you outta something looking like a uniform was when your clothes were off entirely.”

Bobby dropped his sandwich back onto his plate, a single bite taken from it. “Welp, you’re still a perv. That much hasn’t changed.”

“Oh, look. Bobby can get through a sentence where he doesn’t mention he’s gay,” Joanna said.

Logan coughed, quickly picked up his beer and took a long swig. 

“Hey!” Bobby shouted. 

“Aw, Jo. Now-now,” Remy admonished her.

Joanna added: “I know, he’s advertising. Taking all comers.”

Remy jabbed her with an elbow. 

“You talk about me like that while you sit next to  _ him? _ ” Bobby asked and pointed at Remy.

“You mean the married guy who has had a one track mind for a certain skunk-haired chick for who knows how long? Give me a break. The one time he kissed me, I thought he was going to cry sad puppy dog tears because I wasn’t  _ her. _ ” 

“I ask myself, Remy: why did you leave the house?” Remy speculated. “Remy never has a good answer.”

“I’m beginning to have similar conversations with myself,” Logan said.

Remy’s eyes met Logan’s. “What does Logan suggest instead? Remy might take  _ his  _ advice. Is it to stay home, practice self-love and then take a long nap?” Remy asked, smiling suggestively.

“Gah!” Bobby said, scrubbing his hands in his hair. “Need. Brain Bleach !” 

Logan drank some more beer, muttered: “Just hockey. And beer.”

“Remy says Logan needs a new way to unwind. Anyway, Jo, I’d have gladly been  _ under  _ you if I’d been  _ over  _ someone else,” Remy informed her. “Hardly would’ve been fair to you.”

“Oh my god, you were a pussy even before all this,” Joanna grumbled and gestured at him. 

“I recollect you were into that, too,” Remy said. 

Bobby moved his plate aside and put his head down on the table.

“That was a phase,” Joanna told him.

“Pretty sure her name was ‘Yara.’”

They were interrupted from further elaboration by the encroaching wail of an infant. A very exhausted looking Jubilee approached, eyes darkened with purple shadows, the shoulder of her tee-shirt stained with white fluid. She dumped a diaper bag onto the table, shoved a howling infant at Logan. He tried to protest. 

“I can’t---,” Jubilee began, her voice hoarse. “Just,  _ I can’t _ . Give me...ten minutes. No. Twenty minutes. Thirty. Just thirty minutes. I need…” They never found out what she needed because she staggered away. 

Logan was holding the baby as if it were about to explode. Given his red-faced screaming, an eruption did seem imminent. Panicked, Logan extended the baby in Joanna’s direction across the table. She recoiled.

“Don’t even  _ think  _ about passing him off to me!” she said.

“Here,” Bobby said, accepting the squalling baby. “I’ll take him. Come to Uncle Bobby! Uh...it’s okay Shogo. Cootchie coo.”

“Turn him off,” Joanna said. “Take out his batteries.”

Now that his mother was gone, the baby’s screaming only increased in volume and content. Bobby’s lap was doused with spit up. He held the baby aloft to look at the damage. “Ah! Oh, man!” 

Now the baby had hiccups punctuating his cries. Remy stood and retrieved Shogo from Bobby so he could ineffectively wipe the front of his shorts with a paper napkin. As Remy sat with the infant, Logan heard that annoying someone at another table say: “Looks like the maternal instincts are kicking in already!” It was followed by the voice’s owner’s laugh.

The baby was laid belly-down over Remy’s knees, head cradled in one hand. Joanna scootched over on the bench away from the baby’s kicking feet. Remy returned to his food and bounced his knees.

Bobby looked at him. “Your strategy is to hide the baby under the table?”

“He’s fine,” Remy said, biting into the burger and then looking at the crescent shape he’d bitten into it. His expression conveyed disappointment. From beneath the table came an extended and unmistakable sound of someone passing gas. 

Joanna goggled at Remy. “Excuse you!”

“It was the baby,” Remy told her.

“Well, point that thing away from me!”

Remy righted the baby who was still gasping but considerably less unhappy. “Pauvre petit chou. He’s just windy,” Remy said. He took a fork and smashed up the not-potato-salad, slid his plate to within the baby’s reach. “All good now.”

“Gross, the next thing worse than seeing it come out, it’s seeing it go in,” Joanna watched as Shogo pawed the food on Remy’s plate. Apparently, it was not to his liking either because he began to smash it in his fists. Not-potato squeezed through his chubby fingers. Joanna gagged.

“How’d you know to do that?” Bobby asked as Remy wiped the baby’s hands with a napkin. 

Remy shrugged. “I have about a million cousins. Or...I suppose I  _ had  _ about a million cousins.”

“You on the outs with your family again?” Logan asked.

Remy considered him for a beat or two. “Between assassins, the Brood, displacement via various natural disasters and the recent anti-mutant hullabaloo, I have seen significantly fewer family members.”

Remy spoke with no inflection, but Logan felt his brows come together in concern. 

Bobby said: “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. That’s...that’s terrible. Couldn’t they come here?”

“Mebbe my former in-laws, but they refused. And my family’s human,” Remy told him. “So they can’t come.”

“Why would any anti-mutant people target them?” Logan asked. 

“Maybe the fact they’ve all looked exactly the same for as long as anyone can remember, they might’ve drawn some side-eye. The villagers and their torches and pitchforks burned up my auntie’s porch out in the boonies. And she’s part angel. Seems t’make no  _ difference _ , as long as you’re  _ too different _ .” To Bobby he offered: “You want this little one back now?”

Shogo was returned to Bobby. “C’mere, you fart little smeller,” Bobby said.

“Did you just make a dad joke?” Joanna asked.

“Bobby was born making dad jokes,” Logan told her.

“Impossible, my dad’s jokes usually involved anti-Semitism,” Bobby said with authority. “My jokes are scatological or pun-based.”

“My dad’s jokes can’t be repeated in mixed company,” Remy added.

“You’re your own mixed company now,” Joanna observed dryly. 

“Oh, day-umn girl,” Remy said, and sent his crumpled napkin at her. 

“Ah, gross! That has baby slobber on it!” 

“So...about this elephant crowding us…,” Bobby began. Logan detected the normally chilly man was sweating just a bit.

Remy regarded him carefully, an eyebrow raised slightly. 

Logan sighed and shook his head. If Bobby made a remark that didn’t go over so well (and most of them didn’t), it was going to be his own funeral. 

“Does that mean you’re a lesbian now?” Bobby asked. 

Joanna was staring at Bobby, shaking her head slightly, her expression blank with disbelief.

“Seein’ as how I’m a man,” Remy began, “I would say that I am most definitely  _ not  _ a lesbian, though we share similar interests.”

“But…,” Bobby continued slowly. Logan covered his eyes with his hand. It would be less dangerous if they chose instead to play “pop a claw in your head” again. “What about Rogue?”

“What  _ about  _ Rogue?” Remy asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Alright, this is getting interesting,” Joanna said. “Please, do go on, Bobby.”

“Are you and her still…?” Bobby said, refilling his glass with ice and nervously bouncing Shogo on his knee. 

“Still...still,  _ what _ ?” Remy’s expression had shifted towards anger. “Married?”

“Oh! No. I mean. Yes, of course you’re still married,” Bobby held up his hand. “I meant, the other thing. The sex thing.”

“What makes you think that’s your business?”

“I’m obviously asking from a place of totally not being into  _ that _ ,” Bobby said. 

“Why  _ are  _ you asking?”

“‘Cause I wondered if that makes  _ Rogue  _ a lesbian. Or at the very least, bi-sexual.”

“At the very  _ least?”  _ Joanna asked, her voice raised. 

“Bobby, give me that baby,” Logan said and reached for the child. 

“Wha--! Oh, c’mon,” Bobby said, but turned the baby over. He pouted. 

“Let’s just drop this subject,” Logan pointedly looked at Bobby. 

“I was just looking for more people on my team!” Bobby said.

“No one wants to play with you,” Logan said.

“Speakin’ of playin’ around. Joanna, you and Shogo got the same table manners,” Remy said. 

“What is this burger supposed to be made of?” Joanna lifted the bun, poked the inner contents with a fork.

“I’m not about to criticize the cook, but eating stuff offa him makes me feel like I’m consuming Soylent Green,” Remy said. 

“And that’s my meal ruined,” Bobby said. 

“It’s like eating something someone grew on theyselves. Back hair. A fingernail. A mole.” 

“Gambit, sta-ha-hahp!” Bobby begged.

“Maybe you can open a restaurant,” Joanna suggested to Remy. “Serve actual food.”

Remy said: “I don’t know anything about the hospitality business.”

“Well, you might have a couple of lifetimes to figure it out,” Joanna said. “We could use some Southern cuisine around here.”

Remy concurred. “I heard that. And Thai. Because I could about drink a bottle of sriracha on it’s own.”

“Cajun Asian Fusion. Casian?” Bobby suggested. 

Remy gave a short laugh. “Punny.”

“I’d eat that,” Joanna said, leaned her chin in her hand and picked at the food on her plate. “What will you serve?”

“Uhm...Anyone in the mood for fish tacos? Oysters? Cherry pies?” Remy looked skyward, contemplating. 

Joanna nudged him. “Staahp!”

Logan shook his head  _ and _ covered his eyes. 

They were joined by Kurt, Jean, Ororo, and Scott, each carrying their own plates. 

“Council meeting break up?” Logan asked. 

Kurt sighed. “We’re on a recess. We needed a snack break.” Kurt then asked Remy: “Where is Rogue?”

Remy had been smiling, but his expression soured. He responded: “What’s it to you?”

Kurt looked perplexed. He sat himself beside Bobby, placed his plate and a pint of beer in front of himself. “It’s only that I wonder where you have been hiding. I rarely see you outside of Anna’s company.”

“Maybe your company leaves something to be desired,” Remy responded, and Logan was surprised at the hostility in his tone. 

Kurt was too. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he asked: “Did I say something to offend you?”

“Yes,” Remy said and moved to stand. Ororo sat beside Remy, then put a hand on his arm. He hesitated slightly and resumed his seat. 

Jean sat beside Logan, Scott on Joanna’s opposite side. Joanna looked  _ extremely  _ uncomfortable, fidgeted with her dress, and brushed a hand over her hair.

Jean asked Remy: “Is everything alright?”

Remy had turned to look behind him, scanning the crowd. 

“She’s over there,” Logan told Remy, knowing he was looking for Anna. “Looks like she’s been cornered by Mystique.”

Remy responded with a disgusted sound. “I need to go.”

“But---,” Ororo began.

“There you are, my dear!”

“Never. Leaving. The house. Again,” Remy said to himself.

“Not this guy,” Scott likewise muttered.

Sinister manifested himself behind Remy, clasped him by his shoulders. “I wanted to remind you of our appointment!”

Remy grumbled and shoved Sinister’s hands from his shoulders: “It’s not on my day planner.” 

“I sent you an invite. Have you tried syncing your calendars?”

“I declined it. If I want medical attention, I’ll consult an actual physician and not a quack,” Remy told him, still refusing to turn and look at the man.

“My expertise lies in the female anatomy,” Sinister explained as if to an imbecile.

“Mine too. Except I haven’t been slapped with any malpractice lawsuits,” Remy told him.

Bobby couldn’t resist: “Just restraining orders.”

Remy shot him a look that could have scorched the pseudo meat burgers to a crisp.

Ororo interrupted, looking somewhat exhausted. “Please, after the last two hours, I can not take another moment of this.”

Sinister looked as if his fun were spoiled. “Very well, I just have one question for you, LeBeau. Where are you in your monthly cycle? I hope you’ve been keeping track!”

Remy picked up Kurt’s beer, his hand glowing with pinkish energy, turned, and tossed the contents of the glass at Sinister. Beer lurched from the glass and splashed Sinister in the face. He blinked lager from his eyes, expression for the moment, one of stunned surprise. Scott actually burst into a laugh, then sobered and said ‘ahem,’ while struggling to keep a straight face. Remy slammed the glass back down in front of Kurt where the remainder of the liquid leapt and sloshed over the elven man from head to crotch.

“What a drama queen!” said the voice from the other table.

Jean turned and snapped: “Like you can talk. You’re actually  _ wearing _ a crown!”

Wiping beer from his face Kurt pleaded: “Mein bruder, let’s calm and break bread together.”

“I’m  _ not  _ your brother,” Remy said.

“But Rogue is---,” Kurt began.

Remy was fired up, eyes sparking. “What kind of brother are you to her? Why’d you pressure her? What with your stupid edict---with no consideration for what it might mean to people who either won’t be able to have their own natural born children, don’t want babies at all, or want them and can’t! Not to mention how condescending---to mutant parents of human children you deign to tolerate, and to humans who may actually  _ want  _ their mutant children!” 

Bobby was gnawing a lip. Joanna’s face had darkened and she stared blankly into the distance. 

Shogo scolded Kurt, mimicking Remy: “Bah bah bah!” 

Remy told Kurt: “I expect him to be awful,” and he pointed behind him at Sinister, “but didn’t think it of you...I  _ had  _ a brother---and even at my worst, he still stood by me. So don’t be tellin’ me about family.”

Remy stood only to find himself confronted face to face (or chest) with Sinister who remained uncomfortably close to the table.

Sinister looked down at Remy, his expression no longer amused, but wearing a dismissive, mirthless smile. “This family you speak of...do you mean your human father---who only took you in to  _ use  _ you? Hardly the shining example you attempt to defend in your tirade. Exactly the kind of person we should protect the next generation of mutants from.”

“You’d know all about using people, wouldn’t you?” Remy snapped. “But unlike you, he didn’t attempt to have me murdered when he was done with me. And maybe I  _ was  _ used. But he didn’t  _ have _ to love me, now did he?” 

Remy departed, stalking away from the table. Bobby self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck, excused himself, and left too. At the same time Joanna scooped up hers and Remy’s plates of uneaten food, and walked away without saying anything.

“ _ Someone’s _ hormonal,” said the voice from the other table. Logan carefully placed Shogo in Jean’s arms. He stood, unleashed his claws. 

“Oh...hey, Wolvie. Heh. What’s up?”

“I’m going to make you  _ eat  _ that stupid crown, Wade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Logan spies on Remy, and peeps in on more than he bargained for.


	12. Find ‘Em, Fool ‘Em, and Forget About ‘Em

_ But the wheels of fate had started to turn _

_ And for me there was no other way out. _

_ It wasn't very long 'til I knew exactly _

_ What my momma been talkin' 'bout. _

  
  


Logan understood why predators like Victor Creed were drawn to Gambit. His quick movements, his restless watchful gaze, the perpetual tension he carried just below the skin was somewhat like that of a prey animal. Gambit used all the tactics too. You won’t catch me, I’m too fast. You won’t eat me, I’m poison. You won’t touch me, I have spines. You won’t find me, I can hide in plain sight. And if those tactics failed, he’d fight like a cornered cat. Or, like a fox in a trap, gnaw off his own leg to get away.

Logan didn’t want to think of Remy in that way, given he was currently pursuing him from a distance. Remy was not bothering to conceal his trek through the forest; he was aglow with a nimbus of pink energy that trailed after him. He was clearly pissed off, Logan was giving him time to cool off before approaching. The glow was attracting insects and Remy was beset by a flurry of fluttering moths. He waved his arms ineffectively at them. A moth the size of a dinner plate landed on Remy’s face.

“Fuck you, nature!” Remy cried. The moth stood on his nose and looked like an animated carnival mask. Remy turned on the path, blowing upwards at the thing in an attempt to dislodge it. It crawled up to sit on top of his head. Distracted, he failed to see Logan in the path behind him.

“Aargh!” Remy grumbled, but let the glow fade. Several moths fluttered away, the lurid pink light no longer attracting them. 

Remy came to a springy sapling along the path, attempted to walk along it. He fell off, stumbling to the ground, and the tree bounced upright. Logan realized Remy was off-kilter, his former grace and agility failing him. Remy cursed himself. Clearly, it wasn’t his night.

Remy went on grumbling and cursing all the way home. When he climbed the porch and opened the front door to his house, one of the cats attempted an escape. Remy scrambled after it, caught it around the middle and held the animal so they were face to face. “You little rascal! Don’t you know somebody eat you out there?”

Remy brought the cat inside the house, turned on the overhead light. The remaining moths clinging to Remy fluttered up towards the light. The cats quickly gathered below, mewing and chattering at the bugs. Remy told the cats: “Now  _ this  _ is a real party, boys!” 

Logan stayed in the forest, watching Remy through the kitchen window. Remy hopped backwards onto the kitchen counter to sit on it, reached under the cabinets over the refrigerator, removed a panel and extracted contraband of some sort. It was a box from which he removed a cellophane-wrapped chocolate-coated snack. He returned the box, opened the package and broke his treat into two pieces. Stuck his tongue in the white goo inside, marshmallow or cream or something, and stroked his tongue through it. Logan glanced away. Remy watched the cats play while he ate, then sucked chocolate off his thumb. The white cat leapt, caught a moth, and began crunching down.

“Nice catch,” Remy complimented the cat. “Now don’t be horking that up on my pillow tomorrow.”

He went to a record player, selected an album from the crate beneath it, placed it on the turntable and adjusted the needle. The sounds of music filtered out of the open windows; a female singer that combined country-style storytelling with sounds of Southern soul. It seemed a perfect combination of both Remy and Anna, though the album was probably pressed before either of them had been born. Remy danced around the cats, went to the kitchen table and lit a candle there. He turned off the overhead light. Then he danced around the kitchen by himself in the candlelight, occasionally breaking into meows for the cats’ benefit (the cat thing was seriously strange). He moved with the sultry and provocative lyrics like a charmed cobra. 

Logan began to approach, thinking that he’d at least be able to tell Anna later he’d checked in. But interrupting what Remy was doing seemed an awkward imposition (on Logan, again, Remy was never embarrassed). At the start of the next song, Remy went upstairs to the bedroom. Logan could see him above now, lit up with the blueish light from a computer screen. He picked up a communications device, and instead of wearing it like a headset, left it looped around his neck. Remy returned to the ground floor. He peered out the kitchen window and Logan slunk back a pace or two. Remy slid the window down until it was nearly shut. 

Very faint over the music, Logan could hear Remy speak. “Allo...? Salut, Alouette.”

Logan crept forward. Remy had increased the volume on the amplifier, the music concealing his voice to any but those with the most sensitive hearing. From beneath the window, Logan could hear the response: “Who is dis? How did you get dis line?”

“C’est moi, your freakin’ king!”

A pause. “Remy...? Thinkin’ there’s something wrong with your connection. Your voice sounds weird.”

“Ah, must’ve hooked somethin’ up wrong,” Remy told him. “Jean-Luc around?”

“I’ll connect you. Un moment,” Alouette responded. 

“Nice talkin’ to you too, Genard,” Remy remarked to no one. 

“Remy?” another voice spoke. “Where y’at?”

“Awrite Papa? Enh, listen, I’m playin’ your song,” Remy said and walked over to the record player. 

_ People, let me tell you all about my father...He was known as the meanest, baddest love-maker in town... _

Remy’s father laughed. “I like that version. What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Must be comin’ down with something,” Remy told him.

“Since when do you get head colds?”

Remy sang along with the record: “ _ The man had a reputation...for shuckin' and jivin' all the women...And breakin' their hearts, Lord...and leavin' 'em cryin' _ .”

“What them fools do to you this time?”

“Nothin’ pop, I’m fine.”

“Where’s Roguey?” Jean-Luc asked. “She’ll tell me straight.” 

“She needed a break, I was drivin’ her crazy,” Remy responded. 

“That, I can understand. But I wanted to give her a hard time,” Jean-Luc said. 

“Better not tease her no more,” Remy told his father. “I know you don’t mean anything by it, but don’t bring it up.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah-yeah. How’s the situation with Golden Bear?”

“Seems t’me our Russian friends are preparing for his long-term stay. Bankrolled by the American taxpayer. Glad Uncle Sam never tracked  _ me  _ down. If I knew these kleptocrats were living large on my dime, I’d be pretty pissed.”

“I predict a bank error, not in Papa Bear’s favor. And some complications in de private jet charter systems outta Florida. Computer glitch of some kind. Have the little punk see to it.”

“That’s like givin’ a kid a cookie jar and sayin’ ‘don’t spoil your dinner.’”

“Lapin can be on babysitting duty. Let the kid think he’s getting away with something. Later we can leverage him stealing from the Guild coffers and blackmail him. That’ll be fun. And our  _ ehrengast  _ from Dark Towers?”

“A bit tied up at de moment.”

“But not literally tied up?”

“No, no. He’s in the hottub with a bottle of champagne, drinkin’ like a fish. I think I’ll have to reel him in before long. Told him he’s here for his own protection, and it’ll look bad if he goes and drowns hisself,” Jean-Luc said.

“And the copycat?” 

“In position, representin’ some big-wig’s accounts. Mais la, their German is not great.”

“Their  _ English  _ is not great. And comin’ from me, that’s saying something.”

Jean-Luc confirmed: “You wantin’ to go ahead with the purchase?”

Seemingly apropos of nothing, Remy said: “I could never see investing in Index Funds...I mean, how do you  _ know  _ who you’re investing in? Could be using child labor, selling arms or tech to terrorist organizations. That’s why I take a hands-on approach with the Stock Market. Sure, I’ve lost plenty, but it’s nice to share partial ownership in businesses I really have a feel for. New York real estate, par exemple. Now, let’s see, between my REIT shares and the shares of the collective guilds... I wonder who’s  _ really  _ cornered the NYC high-end luxury apartment market?  _ Anyway! _ Yes, let’s purchase Golden Bear’s debt from our deutch friends...at a significant discount. Once de criminal charges are filed, I’ll look forward to makin’ him pay up, one building at a time.”

“I wonder if downtown New York might see some more affordable housing in de future?” Jean-Luc speculated.

“That, and some significantly less ugly architecture, I’ll tell you what,” Remy said. “I got news for you from my end.”

“Does the news involve more mutant orgies?”

“Not this time, désolé. But Belle will be glad to know she don’t have to pay tuition to Candra’s private school anymore.”

“Costin’ an arm and a leg, not to mention the sufferin’ of those poor nuns…but, what happened to Candra?”

“She clocked out.”

“Dead? Oh..! Oh, no! A tragedy! Boo hoo... Where do I send flowers?” Jean-Luc feigned sorrow.

“In lieu of flowers, make a charitable donation on behalf of those nuns she tormented,” Remy told him. “Belle still underground?” 

“Weh.”

Remy sighed. “Feel like I got my hands tied behind my back here. Useless.”

“How’s your studies coming?”

“I liked putting together the equipment, but I got no head for ones and zeros.”

“Understandable. You have a head for other people’s heads. Play to your strengths.”

“Kinda hard via Zoom chat,” Remy said. “But Jericho has offered me much insight these past few weeks on the inner workings of the nutjobs I got to deal with.”

“If you want to hang out on a remote and mysterious island, I know a perfectly good one where you can be with your own people.”

“Ah, Club Med. And my old lady? Does she get a red carpet rolled out for her, too?”

“It’d be easier to convince, if there was a little Prince of Thieves on the way.”

“I told you not to bring it up.”

“A princess would also be nice. Always wanted a little girl.”

“ _ Dieu _ ...” Remy was exasperated.

“Good portion of your people are mutants, Remy. You’d be serving both mutant-kinds’ cause and ours. Seems like a good time to come home. You can’t sweet-talk that flower of de South into going? I’ll do my part here.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Enh, bien.”

Logan listened to them offer pleasantries to one another, discuss other family members. Remy finally signed off with  _ je t’aime _ s.

The record had reached the end of side A. Remy turned it over. He resumed his dancing with the cats.

_ Ain't noooo other man let me down, you see I've been set free...Ever since way back yonder, when Joe made a woman outta me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Papa" or "Golden Bear" is not a code name for Jack Nicklaus in this instance. It's a reference to WHATEVER NYC real estate kleptocrat with Russian ties living in Florida you want it to be. Heh.
> 
> Next time: The mother/daughter conversation. I'm sure it will go well! Absolutely nothing disturbing will be discussed.
> 
> The chapter after that, I'm bringing sexy back. Promise.


	13. Fancy - Bobbie Gentry Version

_ I knew what I had to do, _

_ But I made myself this solemn vow: _

_ That I was gonna to be a lady someday _

_ Though I didn't know when, or how. _

  
  


Remy had found a method for messing with Sinister—ignoring the man. A tactic most effective at infuriating maniacal narcissistic despots the world over. Anna was alarmed when Sinister first cornered them in the bar one evening. He was looking even more pleased with himself than usual, and stated he would like to present them with some wonderful news. Remy addressed him in Parisian French and would not respond unless Sinister conceded to speaking to him using the formal “vous.” This put Sinister off immediately and he departed.

They were trying to enjoy brunch on their front porch when he showed up again, and Remy told him he was welcome to join them as long as he stuck to the topic of Gillian Anderson’s portrayal of Margaret Thatcher in  _ The Crown _ (Remy, while a big fan of Gillian by way of X-Files, felt that the Iron Lady’s wig was doing most of the acting). Sinister said he’d lived through the real thing and he’d be damned if he’d watch a televised version of the whole experience. Remy suggested Sinister could instead highlight the facts versus fictional adaptation, and he had better go watch Season Four if he was going to be of any use. Presumably, Sinister left to do so.

When Remy proposed going out with friends on a Thursday night, Anna was really excited. But it turned out the friends he was talking about were Joanna Cargill and several ex-Acolytes and Awful Awful John Greycrow and two ex-Marauders. One of them being his kinda-girlfriend who looked like she could very well deadlift a rhinoceros, so what was up with his crass remarks about Frenzy? Anna was further disappointed when it turned out they would be going to a karaoke bar. The saving grace: Ororo and Jubilee also came along. It was pretty awkward at first (Remy was delighted with this), but then Joanna belted out I Will Always Love You (either the Whitney Houston or Dolly Parton version, in either case, it was quite loud. Not bad though). Amazingly, Greycrow managed a rendition of Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot. Remy brought a tear to Anna’s eye with Phil Collins’ Against All Odds, and Ororo was forced to perform Toto’s Rains in Africa. She was bolstered by chants of encouragement. Also tequila. Sinister crashed their party but when he wouldn’t sing 99 Luftballoons with Michael (formerly of the now defunct Blockbuster chain of clones), Sinister was booed. The only reason he wouldn’t sing was because he didn’t want to share the stage. Anna sang Chicken Fried which inspired them to go find some greasy food to eat, so it wasn’t a bad night, all things considered.

Then Sinister took it so far as to email Remy (Remy wrote back: ‘unsubscribe’). He sent Remy a Google calendar invite, which Remy countered with a newly proposed time and date of “never ever ever.” @realEternalSin tweeted @dealerNOdeal about this #xcitingnews of his, and Remy blocked him. 

On Friday, Anna was really regretting convincing Remy to come to this cookout. Her reason for taking him here being: Remy had come to the realization that he could have multiple orgasms in relatively quick succession and frankly, Anna needed a little break. Anna thought it a good idea to dose Remy with 32-ounces of social skills to at least get him partway through the night. But the line to the cash bar was so, so long, and the promised beer so far away. Then she saw Remy from across the way seated with Logan, Bobby, Joanna, and dear lord, that was Wade, aka Deadpool, sitting at the table behind Logan. 

Logan would be acting kinda weird as he had been for awhile (like, why wouldn’t he meet her eyes anymore? Couldn’t he see they were trying to get his attention?), Bobby would be saying something stupid, Joanna, something mean, and dollars to donuts Wade would have some color commentary intended to rile Remy up (why did she vouch for him,  _ why _ ? She’d known it would come back to bite her in the ass. How did he even  _ get _ here?). She relaxed a bit when she saw Remy actually smiling and laughing. Then Jubilee showed up and Remy was holding the baby and Anna got all clenched up inside. She was sweating, and not just from the heat and the long sleeved shirt she wore. She needed to purchase a 32-ounce beer for herself as well. 

At long last, she had the beers. She was just turning away from the bar when she was brought up short by Mystique. 

Anna’s eyes rolled back into her head and she let out a frustrated groan: “ _ Aaugghh! _ ”

“You seem stressed. And double fisting drinks?” Mystique tutted. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Not tonight, Raven,” Anna ground out. “I can’t  _ even  _ with you.”

Mystique smiled. “I understand. It must be difficult, not having a...release from tension. Anna, in my experience, being with a woman is far superior to being with a man. But perhaps your husband is not such an expert on the female body as purported. He may need a knowing hand to—guide him.”

“This conversation is not happening,” Anna told her.

“Though he might not be as attractive to you now,” Mystique insinuated. “I’d invest in a strong personal massager. I’m sure he’d understand. You have needs.”

Anna made to move around Mystique. “My beer is getting warm. You have a good night.”

“If he’s unable to perform, you  _ did  _ leave things amicably with Magneto…”

“If you keep talkin’, you’re gonna end up wearing one of these beers,” Rogue informed her abusive mother.

From over Mystique’s shoulder, Anna could see Remy getting upset about something. He stiffly stood and Ororo’s hand on his arm settled him somewhat. 

Mystique glanced over at their table. “Gambit has few friends,” she observed. “You’re the only reason he is here.”

“It was his idea to come,” Anna said stiffly.

“And what possible reason did he cite for coming? Something believable? Because the only motivation he seems to have---is  _ you. _ ”

Sinister had arrived, cornering Remy at the table, and Anna ground her teeth. Even from a distance and the noise of the crowd, she could hear his voice rising in anger. By the time he’d start shouting, he would have lost all ability for rational thought and speech. She needed to waylay him before that happened. 

“You could let him go,” Mystique said softly, as if with compassion. “Back to his family. His partnership with his ex-wife.”

Anna’s eyes flicked back to Mystique’s solid gold gaze. “What’s your angle here, mama? You got some other boyfriend lined up for me somewhere?”

Mystique pressed her full deep blue lips into a line, almost looking like she pitied Anna. “You know he never falls out of love. He always goes back to the people who use and hurt him. His family, Sinister....”

Anna sucked in a breath. “He does  _ not  _ love Sinister.”

“The man who saved him from self-destructing? Who brought him back to himself after what Apocalypse had done? The one who shows up for him in his hour of need? Not everything is physical, Anna.”

“Don’t stand here and think you can give me pointers on relationships,” Anna snapped. “You’re a piss-poor example of what it means to love someone.”

Mystique closed her eyes briefly in a show of sadness. “When you can’t, or won’t, give him what he wants...how long before he falls back into old patterns, like a broken record? He may be enough for you---you  _ do  _ tend to settle, Anna. But are  _ you  _ enough for  _ him _ ? He’s alone, except for you. He wants a family, something to belong to.” She gestured to the mutants gathered. “Do you think this feels like family to him? That he is wanted?”

Remy was shouting. Not at Sinister, not even at Wade. He was pointing at Kurt in an accusatory way. When Ororo tried to calm him, he pushed her hand away. Then he calmly and coldly addressed Sinister and walked away from the table. Anna saw Logan grab Wade from behind, invert his crown (he was King of Monsters, apparently. She doubted the election was a democratic process), and drive it into the top of Wade’s head. Anna winced. 

“Gambit doesn’t have a very good track record with in-laws, does he? Can’t even get along with Kurt, of all people,” Mystique remarked. 

Anna met Logan’s eyes from over the crowd. She tried to signal to him:  _ go follow Remy _ . He gave her a brief nod and walked towards the jungle path Remy had gone down. Anna felt a flutter of nervousness in her chest.

Mystique was still talking: “Rogue...Sinister took something. Of Ga—of Remy’s.” 

Anna turned her eyes back to Mystique. She gave up and put the two sweating mugs of beer down on a high top table. “What, Raven?” she asked in a dull voice, the answer already exhausting her. “What did he take?”

“A possible future, for the both of you. And I am going to give it back.” Mystique said. “There’s been a spirited debate about it, in the council chambers. No one thought to ask Remy’s opinion...or yours. But Sinister claims he obtained Remy’s permission. Likely coerced. But there you have it, nine chances for children of your own.”

“I can hardly fathom what it is you’re talkin’ about.”

“I can replicate enough of your cells, nearly match your genetic structure, to father a child, Anna,” and with that Mystique transformed herself into a male equivalent of her daughter.

Anna recoiled. “Good god, that’s enough! If you think Remy would sleep with any iteration of  _ you—. _ ”

“There would be no need,” Mystique smiled with Rogue’s mouth. “I’ve volunteered as a surrogate, for the precious cargo Sinister stole from Remy. I provided the DNA, yours, or as close as I could approximate, and the incubator. We’ll give your husband the family he never had. And you’ll never have to share your body with another, Anna. You’ll not have to give up control of yourself. You really  _ can  _ have it all.”

Anna shook her head in disbelieving horror. “I will never understand how your mind works. The stuff you come up with…”

“The only thing I couldn’t provide...is a Y-chromosome. So any child I’ll give you...will certainly be a girl.”

~oOo~

It was several days after The Waterfall Incident before Remy told her what Sinister had done to him. They were in a hammock strung from two trees. Remy’s hands slowly roamed her body, leaving tingling trails on her skin as they rocked slightly in the breeze. His touch seemed all the more erotic for having been in broad daylight, his hand tracing patterns up her midriff and exposing the underside of one of her breasts. Anna’s fingers danced their way slowly down his stomach, but when they slipped under the waistband of his shorts, he put a hand on hers, stopping her progress.

“Still not ready?” she asked him quietly. 

He was quiet for a few moments, the only sound being the breeze in the trees and the sounds of the birds. “I don’t know...it feels wrong.”

She was resting on his shoulder. She lifted her head to look at his face. “It doesn’t feel wrong when you touch me. When you’re inside of me.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Hm. Like...like stretching a muscle you didn’t realize needed stretched. I mean, most of the sensation is on the outside. But I don’t need to tell you that,” Anna smiled. “You’re the expert.”

He regarded her with bright eyes and she earned a smile from him. But it faded quickly. “I think I can get your meaning, about the stretching part. Though I felt more like I’d been cranked open by the Jaws of Life.”

Anna’s expression sobered. “What do you mean, sugar?”

“On Essex’s table.”

She felt cold then, even though the sun through the leaves was hot. “You...want to tell me about it?” 

Remy did. Slowly, in short, halting sentences. When he was done, Anna thought for a moment. Maybe too long because she could feel Remy’s anxiety vibrating out of him. “What you described is a typical pelvic exam. I’m sure Sinister’s bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. And he should have told you what to expect. I wish I’d been there. Instead of beatin’ Forge upside his head.”

“I’m glad you weren’t there. That was humiliatin’, and I’m pretty hard to embarrass.”

“You’ve got no reason to be ashamed.”

“About that other thing he said---about him cutting me…,” Remy began, then seemed to change his mind about what he wanted to say. “When we were together that first time. Did I hurt you?”

Anna shook her head slightly. “Every woman’s different, Remy. I’ve heard it hurts---I mean I’ve read enough romance novels...but for some, it doesn’t hurt so much. I mean, if you’re an active gal, you might not even have to worry about it by the time you’re ready for sex. It might’ve been all that horseback ridin’ I did as a girl. But, coulda also been all those times I’d absorbed people and altered myself physically. Claws, skin color, what have you. It didn’t hurt. I think I was surprised more’n anything.”

“Surprised?” Remy asked. “Like a birthday party? Or a magician’s trick? Look what I pulled out of my hat! Ta da!”

Anna laughed. “Surprised because, I thought to myself, self, how’n the world is  _ that  _ gonna fit  _ in there _ . And lo, to my surprise...”

Remy turned his head, kissed her forehead. “Pretty sure if a baby can come out---I mean, theoretically speaking.”

She adjusted herself in the hammock to lay on her side facing him. “Remy. You can be honest with me about what you think, about not having a baby. I was honest with you.”

“I was honest when I said I know how you feel, chère,” Remy told her. “I know where you’re comin’ from. Even before this, I had plenty of experience with feeling out of control. That my body was not my own, feelin’ like some other force was in charge making me do things I didn’t want.”

“Thank you for understanding me, Remy. But I want to know what having children or not having children means to you.”

“You know I’m sucker for kids. Probably a little too much of a push-over, really. Let Stormy and Laura walk all over me, didn’t I?” 

Anna smiled. “They were hardly typical little kids.”

“Je sais, yeah. They could look after themselves, but they shouldn’t have  _ had  _ to. I looked after myself when I was a boy. Would’a been nice to have another set of eyes looking, too. Someone watchin’ my back. ‘Course, wasn’t ‘til years later I found out Jean-Luc had been standing over my shoulder, at least some of the time.”

Anna ran her hand up and down his bicep. “Seems like he coulda just said. So you wouldn’t have felt alone.”

“Think he was thinkin’ he’s making a strong kid who could survive on his own. Guilds, no guilds, no matter what.”

“Think he made a scared kid, instead,” Anna said softly.

“He didn’t have a very good dad. No one to set an example. Did what he could with the resources he had available. There’s reason he had a hands-off parenting style, seein’ as how his own dad was a little too  _ hands-on _ , beatin’ his kid black and blue. Broken people make broken kids.”

“Do you feel broken, Remy?”

“No, Anna. I’m completely all together when you’re with me.”

She smiled, brushed her hand over his clavicles to his opposite arm. Slid her fingers down the inside of his opposite bicep. “But…,” Remy began. “Given what’s happened. Us  _ making  _ a kid seems unlikely. Doesn’t mean we couldn’t  _ have _ a kid someday though, by some other means. I didn’t love Stormy or Laura any less, for not being my same blood.”

“Not a solution the problem of ‘making more mutants.’” 

“Should focus more on  _ raising  _ more mutants. Making is the easy and fun part.” 

“Unless you want to and can’t,” Rogue murmured.

Remy brushed his lips over her temple. “Weh. C’est vrai. I’m sorry.”

Rogue smiled a little, ran her fingers over his midriff. 

“Now you quit ticklin’ me, unless you want a taste of your own med’cine.”

“I think this---change---you’ve gone through, has made you a little more sensitive, Remy.” Her fingers fluttered over his bare chest. He captured her hand, slid it lower and her fingers slipped beneath his waistband. Anna slowly let her hand move lower, and gently cupped him between the legs. She whispered: “Is this okay?”

He was quiet again, contemplating the soft touch of her fingers. “I think it could be. But I don’t know...what the first time is going to be like...” He drifted off a moment as she traced a finger over the parting between his thighs. Remy shifted a leg and Anna was encouraged. She delved a bit deeper and he pressed his hand against the back of hers, stopping her. 

“...Anna, I can only put off Essex for so long,” he quietly admitted. “Before he gets his hands on me again. Right now, he’s happy to keep poppin’ outta the woodwork and tormenting me. It’s not gonna last. I figure I got maybe another week.”

“What’s in another week?”

“I put it on our calendar. Been keepin’ track.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The Seduction of James Logan Howlett.


	14. There Ain't No Glory in the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's put this story to bed, shall we?

_ I couldn't see spendin' the rest of my life _

_ With my head hung down in shame. _

_ I mighta been born just plain white trash, _

_ But Fancy was my name. _

_ Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down! _

_ Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down! _

  
  


Remy disconnected the call to his father and returned his communications equipment to the bedroom, feeling both happy and sad, lonely but not. From the nightstand he retrieved his novel and a vape pen. Once he was back in the kitchen, he reopened the window. He took the candle from the kitchen table and carried it outside. 

His anxiety was at an all-time high, paranoia plagued him. Remy felt as though he was being watched, but that was a constant since arriving on this island. He had almost become numb to the sensation. He sat on the porch chair, placed the candle on the table beside him and set down his book for a moment. Took a long pull from the pen, held it, exhaled. A stream of white vapor curled from his mouth. Remy placed the pen onto the table and slouched in his chair to rest his head on the back of the seat. He extended his legs to rest his feet on the railing, knees akimbo and idly rocking, staring blankly out into the night. 

After awhile, he picked up his book. The candlelight was just enough for him to make out the words on the page. Joanna loaned him this one---there was a lot of spanking in it. Getting lost in the plot (what little there was of it), combined with the contents of the vape pen, eventually untied one or two knots in his neck. He thought a hot shower might help. Maybe with Anna when she got home. The book was giving him ideas. 

From behind him came a soft tearing sound. Remy looked up to see Oliver (if anyone asked, he loved them all equally, he did  _ not  _ have a favorite). The cat was climbing the screen. The cat managed to put a hole in it with his claws. 

“Now, you quit that you---,” Remy began. But in an instant, the cat had shoved his head through the hole and flowed through the opening like water from a sieve. “Enh! No!”

Oliver dropped from the window and was off the porch like the hounds of Hell were on his tail. Remy lurched towards him, just brushing the cat’s smooth fur as he zipped away. 

“Oliver!” Remy ran off the porch after the cat, feeling panic. “Come back!” 

He spotted the cat’s dark shape slipping into some vegetation and Remy dashed towards him. “Ollie! Here kitty!”

Remy pushed aside leaves, trampled into the forest. He could see very little in the shadows, let alone a small black cat. He summoned the soft glow of his powers. It created flickering pink light on dark green leaves. “Oliver,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Here kit-cat. Ps-ps-ps…”

He thought he heard motion nearby, a soft clattering sound, and he moved carefully towards it. “Oliver?” 

That dang-blamed moth landed on him again. He felt its little claw-like legs clinging to his hair. “Aagh! Ah! Get the fuck off!” Remy rushed from the jungle, stumbling backwards from the undergrowth. He tripped and rolled down the short embankment to land in the pond. Water closed over his head. Remy sat up and emerged, coughing up swampy water. Crawled from the water to sit on the soggy bank. He put his head down on his raised knees and banged his forehead against them several times. Debated whether screaming and crying at the same time counted as “hysteria,” and then considered the sexist entymology of the word.

“This place is out to get me,” Remy said into his lap. If this stupid island hurt his cat, that would be it. The last straw.

“Hey,” said a voice from behind him. 

Remy leapt to his hands and feet. In the darkness, he could make out Logan. He didn’t relax, thinking now was time, no more dancing around.

“I got your cat,” Logan said and took a few steps forward, holding the squirming cat out to him. Oliver was growling.

Remy let out a relieved breath and stood. “Oh, merci le bon Dieu,” Remy breathed. “Thanks. Thanks, Logan.” 

Remy closed the gap between them, moved to take Oliver from Logan’s arms. But when he claimed the cat, the animal attempted to attack his captor, swiping at Logan with a yowl. Remy turned, shielding Logan from Oliver, hoping to separate them. He should have known better, this one was the little tough-guy runt with a chip on his shoulder. Oliver’s claws raked Remy’s upper back as he tried to dive at Logan.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Remy hissed as he had to pry claws from his back. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Logan pulled the cat off Remy by the scruff of its neck, claws tugged at Remy’s skin. Oliver screamed and spat. 

“C’mon,” Logan told Remy and turned back to the house. 

Remy followed, swallowing the urge to run in the opposite direction. Once on the porch, he saw that the window had been closed. The other two cats were peering out the window. Damn, he could have lost all three. Which just went to show, things could be worse. Logan must have closed it for him. That was...thoughtful. He waited at the front door for Remy to open it. They both went inside, Remy gently brushing past Logan. Logan dropped Oliver onto the kitchen floor. The cat arched his back, looking like a Halloween decoration, let out one stuttering hiss before dashing underneath the couch where he continued to growl and yowl.

“That’s one devil of a cat,” Logan observed.

“He’s my favorite,” Remy finally admitted. He saw blood on his shirt. “Dammit.”

Logan told him: “You’re going to need to clean that. And probably antibiotics.”

Remy lifted the collar of his shirt, trying to see over his shoulder. “Great. Antibiotics. Now I’ll get a yeast infection or something. Just what I need.”

Logan looked down the back of Remy’s shirt. “You got any antiseptic or anything? I don’t think it’ll help, but it’s worth a shot ‘til you can see a doc. Stop by the Healing Gardens.”

Remy felt a jolt spike in his gut. “That place gives me the creeps. Antiseptic, though. We got some upstairs. Mind helping?” He began towards the stairs, steeling himself when Logan followed. Feeling something flutter between his navel and groin.

“Never seen you so off-balance, Cajun,” Logan said, following him.

“I think my center of gravity is different,” Remy told him. “Anna told me I still walk like a man. That maybe I should move from the hips.”

“You’ve been walkin’ like Joanna,” Logan told him. “Like you’re charging head-first into...whatever comes next.”

Remy went to the washroom in the corner of the bedroom, flicked on the light and opened the cabinet behind the mirror. He found a blue bottle of Hibiclens and a few bandages. When Remy closed the cabinet mirror, he saw Logan’s reflection standing just behind his own. Logan’s eyes were on Remy’s shoulder, not meeting his gaze. Remy tried to shake himself of the feeling of being cornered, of feeling threatened. There was also the phantom sensation, the memory of Logan pressed against his back, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his erection pressed against his thigh. He didn’t know what to feel about that, exactly. Emotionally, anyway. Physically...well, it felt like some warm heavy weight settled itself in between his legs.

Logan picked up a washcloth. “Do you mind getting blood on this?” he asked. 

“S’fine,” Remy said. He slid out of his shirt, ruined with holes, blood, and stained a tea-color from the pond water. He dropped it into the sink basin. Remy looked down at himself, thinking he didn’t look like much of one thing or another. That he was bananas now too, because who’d ever want to be with this?

Logan approached him from behind, picked up the bottle of antiseptic. He examined the wounds on Remy’s shoulder. “Maybe you don’t need antiseptic. Antibiotics.”

“Pretty sure you can die of cat scratch fever,” Remy told him, looking at Logan’s expression in the mirror. It was unreadable.

Logan leaned past Remy, wet the washcloth in water from the tap. Remy felt the brush of the man’s body against his own. Then Logan pressed the cold cloth to the burning scratches, blotting blood. Finally, Logan said, his voice a rough rumble: “Think I can help.”

“It’s not like I can borrow your healing powers,” Remy told him.

“No…. You ain’t gonna put your thumb in my eye again, are you?” Logan asked.

“Depends on what you plan on doing.”

“It won’t hurt. I won’t hurt you,” Logan said.

“C’mon, out with it, homme,” Remy said impatiently. Please, just let this be---what he wanted, needed it to be. Anna said to just be straight with him about it. Remy thought if he said anything, he’d just end up getting stuck like a pincushion.

Logan slowly leaned forward, his gaze meeting Remy’s in the mirror, and ran his tongue over Remy’s shoulder. They both gave a sharp inhalation of breath.

~oOo~

Logan remembered smelling the Cajun the first time. The long and short of it was that the kid  _ stunk _ . He smelled like cheap cigarettes, cheap booze, cheap polyester, cheap cologne, and cheap women. It was easy to hate him. Under all that, he smelled of fear, because clearly he was hiding something. Being around Gambit was a constant aggravation. Chauvinist bravado, over-the-top flamboyance. He was arrogant, overconfident, stupid. Storm was the only reason Logan didn’t gut him. Though a guy like that---hanging out with a fourteen-year-old Ororo---set off all kinds of alarm bells. Gambit hugged and teased Ororo in a way no one else did. She’d roll her eyes and sigh with feigned impatience while Gambit grinned at her. Logan clenched his jaw so hard his teeth creaked. When little Ororo looked away, when she wasn’t watching him, Gambit’s eyes would search their surroundings, suspicious, alert to danger. He hovered near ‘Ro at enough distance that she wouldn’t realize what he was doing. Protective, not predatory. 

Logan was observing this, speculative, wondering what the thief was doing. Or rather,  _ why? _ Gambit’s eyes met Logan’s, flicked away to spot Jubilee at his side where she stood gnawing on a wad of gum in an oblivious way. Gambit returned his hot gaze to Logan, eyes narrowing. Logan felt Gambit’s assessment, wondering the same thing about Logan as Logan had wondered about Gambit. Jubilee began poking Logan in the side, trying to get his attention. He glanced away to bark at her to  _ knock it off. _ When he looked back at Gambit, he saw the knot in Remy’s jaw disappear as he unclenched his teeth. His smirk softened to something that was more of a smile. Then he pointed his finger at Logan, like he was shooting him with a gun, fired, and gave him a knowing wink while making a clicking sound from the corner of his mouth. 

It didn’t enamor Logan with Remy, but he decided he could at least tolerate him. He still didn’t understand the why, but he recognized a sort of kinship.

Eventually, Remy didn’t stink nearly so bad. When all the trappings of a disposable life fell away, the liquor, the women, even the cigarettes, he smelled different. Logan considered the possibility that people could really change. But one thing remained, that underlying scent. He still smelled something like fear, but not. More like a hyperawareness, a burning sensitivity to the world around him. It wasn’t necessarily a bad smell, more of an enticing one.

Logan continued to watch the younger man from the forest. Saw Remy pull on a vape pen, his face momentarily lit up with a blue glow. Watched as he slouched in his chair, then put his feet up on the railing, legs spread. Watched him read. It must have been an exciting book. Logan could smell the excitement, too. He rubbed his face with a sweating palm, shook his head. He needed to leave. Return to the cookout and find Jean and Scott. Or maybe, instead of fooling himself, find out what Ororo might be doing. Better yet, find out what she might be feeling.

He heard Remy shout. Saw him go running after the cat. Logan spotted the other two cats in the screened window. He climbed the porch, reached through the tear in the screen and pushed the window shut. Turning, he saw Remy’s gait was uneven, he was awkward and clumsy as he stumbled into the forest. He completely missed the cat, which was running back to the house, having frightened itself. Logan went after it, closed his hand down on the animal and it lost its little mind, hissing and spitting and turning into a black ball of clawed fury. Maybe Logan didn’t hate cats after all. This cat might be a distant cousin.

From the jungle, there was a bout of profanity and a splash. Logan moved towards the sounds. Saw Remy crawl out of the swamp, sit down and put his head on his knees. In the moonlight, Logan could see Remy’s wet shirt clung in transparent patches to his skin. 

“This place is out to get me,” Remy said, miserable.

Ever the conversationalist, Logan said: “Hey.” 

Remy leapt to his hands and feet in surprise, crouching like a cat, back arched and ready to spring. His red eyes flared in the darkness. Logan extended the cat in his direction. Remy rushed forward, bringing with him palpable relief, gratitude. There was the smell of him and his mutant powers, warm amber and something burned. A living Maillard reaction on the skin, appetizing, smoky, vaguely sweet. 

The cat was still wild and then Remy was bleeding. They went to the house and Logan dropped the wildcat onto the floor. Defiant, the cat cursed before dashing under the couch to stare evilly at Logan with golden yellow eyes. The cat conveyed: _i kill you, bastard_ _inu._

Well, that was interesting.

Logan forced himself to communicate, use his words, to distract himself from the sight and smell of Remy. Logan made the mistake of following him up to the washroom. They passed through that heavily Anna-Remy perfumed bedroom where Logan glanced at the bed. There was a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand. There was a ribbon of black fabric tied and dangling from the headboard. 

That was a different kind of interesting. 

The bathroom light was bright and Logan blinked. He stared at Remy’s broad, muscled shoulders, a torso that tapered to a narrow waist. Remy was taut as a bowstring, it seemed every muscle in his body was clenched. The claw marks on the back of his shoulder were deep puncture wounds. Up close, Logan could sense the wounds would quickly fester. 

In the reflection, Logan could see Remy’s chest. A trio of scratch marks scraped across one pectoral. Without the shirt, it was apparent there was a softening in his upper body where there hadn’t been before. Other signs of change, the lack of hair on his chest, his beardless chin, the smooth column of his throat. Maybe if Sinister kept up whatever it was he was doing, in another few weeks Remy would be altered even further. Logan felt a spike of outrage on the younger man’s behalf then, surprising himself. The idea he’d been forcibly changed, experimented on, was infuriating. He’d heard Remy’s heart rate spike when he mentioned going to the doctor. Maybe Logan could spare him the trip.

“Think I can help,” Logan managed. “I won’t hurt you.”

Logan approached slowly, thinking Remy would either bolt or elbow him in the throat. He could be unpredictable. Cautiously, he leaned forward until he could feel the heat radiating off Remy’s skin. Then Logan ran his tongue over the wounds, tasting blood, the vegetal murkiness of swamp water, Remy’s sweat and the salt on his skin. They both tensed. Remy’s shoulders hunched and he gave a short inhalation of pain as the wounds reopened with the movement. Logan prepared for retaliation. Their eyes met in the mirror. Remy’s expression was surprised, wary. He didn’t look like he wanted to fly into a rage. Logan could hear the other man’s pulse quicken, and not from fear. His own blood was rushing in his ears. Logan put his hands on Remy’s biceps, holding him lightly as he stroked his tongue over the scratches again. Not to impart a healing factor, but a tissue factor. Saliva promoting coagulation and healing, having antimicrobial properties, and working as an analgesic; the average human had this ability. Logan’s spit offered significantly more. 

He moved over Remy’s shoulder, tracing his injuries with his mouth. Remy’s eyes were shut now, Logan could no longer feel the pressure of his gaze. He turned Remy then so they were facing one another. He stroked a tongue over the more superficial scratches on Remy’s pectoral. Logan looked down, past Remy’s chest to his stomach, to the fabric knotted at his waist. The knot sat at his hip, the fabric split up the front of Remy’s thigh. 

Remy was looking down as well, looking at Logan. He was wearing a drab green tee-shirt, tight over his torso, dark jeans belted at the waist. Transfixed, he watched Remy’s hand reach out, run over his chest before moving down to press against the front of Logan’s jeans.

Remy swallowed dryly. “I miss getting hard,” he confessed, his voice low. It echoed in the small space.

Logan let out a breath. “It’s not right.”

“There’s not much in my life that’s right,” Remy said, his hand hesitant. “Just the one thing.”

“I mean, what they did to you,” Logan said. “What they’re doing still.”

Remy was silent for what seemed a long time. “Could be karmic retribution,” he said finally. “For me treating women like I did.”

Logan’s eyes were cast downward, to where Remy’s hand still rested against the growing hardness between his legs. “You can’t believe that.”

“I wonder. But...felt like I was just as awful to men. Maybe moreso, just in a dif’rent way. Equal opportunity offender, me.”

“Never made an effort to get people to like me...,” Logan began. 

“Maybe your charisma comes more natural, not a put on,” Remy suggested, his hand shifted, the pressure moved upward.

Logan gave a short exhalation. “You make an effort to get people to...think wrong about you.”

“Easier that way,” Remy said. “Defense mechanism. I’m not lookin’ for anyone’s approval.”

“You’d rather have rejection? Seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Logan told him. He pressed Remy’s hand, stopping its movement, but not releasing him.

“I tried bein’ nice, too. Monsieur Nice Guy.”

“Why don’t you just try…”

“If you say ‘to be yourself,’ I’ll charge your belt buckle,” Remy said and his fingers curled slightly around the bulge in his jeans.

“I don’t know what you’ve got going on,” Logan said, looking him in the face now. “But being an X-Man doesn’t seem to be it anymore.”

“No. Hasn’t been for awhile. How long have you been watchin’ the house?”

“Long enough to know your mind is elsewhere,” Logan told him. “Why  _ are _ you here?”

“I wouldn’t force Anna to choose,” Remy said. “Told her we should come here, so she didn’t have to pick y’all over me.”

“She married you, didn’t she? She chose you.”

“Maybe. But she didn’t choose  _ this _ .” His opposite hand moved to the knotted cloth. Given that the fabric was wet, he was unable to free himself. 

Logan slid a claw slowly from his right hand. Nicked the knot. The fabric came free. 

“Now you’ve ruined my dancin’ dress,” Remy said. 

His eyes moved over Remy’s exposed waist, lower between his legs. He’d seen Remy naked how many times? Knew him to stand uncomfortably close in the locker room showers and strike up what would otherwise be normal conversations. It made Bobby crazy, having Remy in his personal bubble. Remy didn’t have boundaries. Remy rarely approached Logan though. He knew he’d not get a rise out of Logan like he could Bobby. Things were clearly different now.

“Why’re you doing this?” Logan asked.

“Doing what?”

“Don’t play stupid,” a touch of anger entered his voice.

“I’m not doing  _ anything _ ,” Remy said. “Unless you do  _ something _ .”

Logan moved forward then, threatening. Wanting to see Remy back down. Remy’s backside came up against the sink, Logan pressed himself against Remy’s naked body. A breath shuddered out of Remy’s chest. Logan responded to the increase of that burning smell, his sweat, and the racing of his heart. There was also excitement, arousal. He could still taste Remy’s skin in his mouth. He could feel the heat of Remy’s body, the give between his legs where there wasn’t one before. Logan could see his own eyes reflected in the mirror over Remy’s shoulder, dark with a mixture of anger and something else. His hands were gripping the thief by the waist.

“You’ve been all over the island,” Logan said. “When I haven’t seen you in weeks, maybe months, all of a sudden, there the two of you are. Seemed like everywhere.”

“Anna said I should get out more,” Remy told him, and Logan felt Remy’s hand move over his lower back. “We tried to be inviting.”

“What are you playing at?” his voice a low growl against Remy’s neck.

Logan could feel Remy’s breath on the side of his neck when the taller man lowered his head to speak in his ear. “D’you know the worst part of this?” Remy asked. “That it was an accident. A stupid mistake. All the very worst parts of my life are stupid mistakes. Killing my brother-in-law, not controlling my powers, believing Essex, going to Apocalypse. And I hate--- _ hate--- _ being anyone’s victim.”

He continued: “People been messing with my body since I was a boy. First some pervert. Later, it was Sinister. Then Apocalypse. Even you. And I  _ let  _ them, let  _ you _ . I decided.  _ Me _ . Because it meant I’d survive. That I wasn’t a victim. So you all can stick your hands, needles, knives, potions, claws and whatever else in me, but you’ll  _ never  _ touch me. I only ever let one person do that.”

Logan turned his face to Remy’s. They looked at one another, very close. “You wouldn’t risk what you have with Anna...doin’ something like this.”

“What is it we doing, Logan?” 

“Stop it.”

“Anna...knows what I need,” Remy told him, his voice dark and low, almost as deep as it used to be. Logan wondered if he understood what Remy was insinuating. Remy added: “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to always be lookin’ over your shoulder? Thought I was  _ done  _ with that. That I didn’t have to hide anymore.”

Logan looked away from him then, turned his eyes back to the mirror. Drew a breath and released it. “I do...Remy. I just choose not to run away. Turn around and meet it head-on.”

Remy’s face was turned towards him still. He was taller by several inches, his mouth was very near Logan’s temple. “What do you think I’m doin’ now?” His hand pressed on Logan’s back, drawing him closer. “I won’t just  _ let you _ . I  _ want you _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The literal "climax" of the story. Followed by some candid conversation about relationships. But you're here for the sex, right?


	15. He Made A Woman Out Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I put the explicit stuff between the line breaks if you want to skip it.

_ It wasn't long after a benevolent man _

_ Took me in off the streets. _

_ And one week later, I was pourin' his tea _

_ In a five room hotel suite. _

  
  


Remy was rigid beneath him, his body clenched incredibly tight around him. It made it so easy to rise to that peak, climb towards the point of no return to fall over the edge to a blissful release. It made it so hard to recognize the body beneath him was not experiencing the same level of gratification, harder still to stop the fall. But Logan stopped. He struggled to control his ragged breathing. Logan looked down at the man beneath him on the bedroom floor. Remy’s eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, his face expressionless. His body was tensed, both resisting the inward press of Logan’s length, as well as the withdrawal. As Logan watched, Remy’s eyes flicked to him.

“Don’t stop,” Remy said, not in a way that asked for a need to be fulfilled. It was a command:  _ get it done _ .

Logan rose up on his hands and knees to look at Remy. He smelled blood, and not from the wounds in Remy’s shoulder. He looked down at himself, at Remy’s thighs. They were both smeared in red. 

“Fuck,” Logan breathed, rested his forehead against the wood floor beside Remy’s head. He felt angry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Remy gave a fatalistic laugh. “Who’da ever thunk it? Me, a virgin.”

“God--- _ dammit _ …” Logan lifted himself away to sit back on his heels. 

Remy’s brows drew together. Now he was angry too. “What’re you doin’? Finish what you started.”

Logan wanted to throw the younger man from him, punch him, take back what he’d just done to him, apologize to him, shake some sense into him, scream at him. “Fuck you, Remy,” Logan said instead.

“Yes, that’s what I am sayin’. Fuck me, Remy,” Remy agreed, a stupid smarmy comment. Logan shoved him back onto the floor. 

“What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you?” Logan shouted. “You said you  _ wanted _ this. You wanted me to.... What kind of---?”

Remy was laying on the floor, his head turned to the side. His jaw worked. “I ain’t playin’ with you, Logan.”

“Then what is it? What  _ are  _ you doing?”

“I needed...to know if I could survive this, too. Do it, before someone else did it  _ to  _ me, like Creed. Or...I just---I don’t want Anna to know me like this.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut. Scrubbed a hand over his face. “Why me?”

Remy slowly turned to look at him. Sat up on his elbows. “You seemed...interested. I thought---you’d be able to handle it. And given your current living arrangement in Summer house, you were down with that sort of thing.”

Logan’s hand dropped, his shoulders fell. “You thought you’d--- _ what? _ Seduce me? To do  _ that? _ ” Logan gestured to the blood on the inside of Remy’s thigh. 

Remy sat up fully so their faces weren’t more than a foot apart. Remy asked: “Do you feel like you’ve been used? Like I tricked you? It’s not what I mean to do.”

Logan sucked in a breath through his nose, unclenched his jaw. “I can believe this shit from you, but not from her. You told me---she knew what you needed.”

Remy nodded. “She told me to ask. I told her I would.”

“Then why--- _ didn’t _ \---you,” Logan ground out.

“Because I’m not good at asking for things. And...you’d have said no.” 

“You’re a fucking manipulative little---,” Logan started to say.

“Bitch? Cunt?” Remy suggested.

“Do you want me to gut you, or what?” Logan snarled.

“Kinda felt like you were before,” Remy grimaced.

Logan resisted the urge to throttle the thief. “You made me feel like I’m a...like I  _ forced  _ you.”

Remy shook his head, his expression looked vaguely stricken. “You didn’t force me.”

“So what, you forced yourself? On me? I could kill you.”

“I...didn’t think about it. That way,” Remy drew his hands through his shaggy locks. “I guess I didn’t think it was possible, me bein’---this way. Sinister said he could do it surgically. I just didn’t want him to cut on me anymore. Rather someone else did it. Someone I might actually  _ like _ .”

Logan felt the fight drain out of him. Felt disgusted. Disgusted with everything about this whole sick situation. He sighed. “Think you’re still a victim. Think you did it to yourself this time. You don’t deserve what happened to you,” Logan told him. “Stop punishing yourself.”

Remy stared at him.

“I would’ve said ‘no.’ I probably would have said ‘hell no,’” Logan said. “Not because I wanted to reject you.”

“Sounds pretty much like a rejection t’me,” Remy said.

“Rejecting some _ thing _ , not someone. Not willing to admit I’d want what I wanted. To get in the middle of what the two of you have.”

“I’m all for people wanting what they want. So’s long no one---gets hurt,” Remy said. Then he looked up at Logan. “Guess I thought I’d be the only one in pain. I didn’t mean to cause you this kind of grief.”

Logan shook his head. “Did you  _ actually  _ want me?”

“Consider myself a straight man. Who, on past occasion, enjoyed sex with other men. And is currently stuck in a woman’s body that would also like to enjoy sex. I defy all labels. I dare you to define me.” He gave a smile, not at the full wattage, but still enough to carve a dimple in a cheek. 

Logan sat on the floor, unfolded his legs. “I’d say you’re a guy with a weird thing about cats.”

“I’d call myself a liar if I said I wasn’t attracted to you,” Remy said, his voice low.

“You didn’t seem too into it.”

“Didn’t feel great, I admit,” Remy confessed.

“You should have  _ said _ , dammit. You could also try to relax,” Logan told him.

Remy shuddered.

“What?”

“Essex kept sayin’ that too.”

“Fuck.”

Remy looked at him grimly and rubbed a hand over his eye. “Easier said than done, apparently. I’m askin’ now. I’d be willing to try again if you are. You can say no, of course.”

“I’m not interested,” Logan began and Remy started to nod, considering him. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I told you already. I wouldn’t.”

Remy smirked at him then and his eyes flashed. “So...you’re sayin’ you don’t know how to  _ pleasure  _ a body, Logan? I could give you a few tips.”

“Watch it, bub,” Logan growled. “Or the only tips you’ll be getting---.”

“I’ve had those already,” Remy leaned back with a bored sigh, once again resting on his elbows. “I found I was left unsatisfied. Poor performance. Over quick.”

“You do want me to murder you, don’t you?” 

“The only death I’m interested in in  _ la petite mort _ ,” Remy said, still smirking. 

“So, you’ve been with other men?” Logan asked.

“Weh,” Remy continued to grin slyly.

“Anyone I know?”

“I wouldn’t want to kiss and tell,” Remy said. 

“Now you’re lyin’,” Logan said. 

“You could kiss me if you like, and I promise I won’t tell.” Remy corrected himself: “Well, I’ll tell Anna. She’ll want details.”

“She’s not going to punch me straight through to next week, is she?” 

“No, Logan.”

“I can’t picture Anna being into this,” Logan said.

“What goes on behind closed doors…,” Remy shrugged. “Plus we both have our free pass.”

“I’m your free pass?”

Remy tilted his head. “You always seemed unavailable. Or that you hated me. But now...you don’t seem overly attached, or serious ‘bout anyone.”

“Who’s hers?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Logan squinted at him and growled.

“We doin’ this or not?” Remy asked. “Quit bein’ a cock tease.”

“Bobby’s right, you are a perv.”

Remy leaned forward abruptly, they were sitting hip to hip, their faces close. “Let’s not talk about Bobby, please. He’s not my particular type.” Logan felt Remy’s hand hot on the inside of his knee.

“I figured you weren’t too particular,” Logan said. 

Remy’s mouth opened in feigned shock, eyes widening. “What a way t’talk about my wife. Or yourself. I have a very refined palette, I’ll have you know.” His voice grew slow, deepened and quieted to a near whisper. The hand slid to the crease between Logan’s sex and his thigh. “Your type? I can be that. I can be...whatever you want.”

* * *

Logan lifted a hand, placed it on the back of Remy’s head, ensnared his fingers in the hair at his nape. Remy’s hand slid over to cover Logan’s erection, fingers lightly curling around his balls. He told Remy: “I like someone who knows what they want. And goes for it. Who doesn’t screw around and play games.”

“That’s a shame. I like games. I like to play it out for a good long time,” Remy’s fingers wrapped around Logan’s hardened length, hand moving against him from base to tip.

“Why don’t you show me what else you like?” Logan said in a soft growl as Remy worked his hand on him, a twist of the wrist at the head of his cock.

Remy frowned a bit. “I don’t actually know,” he answered slowly. “Not in this body anyway.”

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” Logan said. He reached up to the mattress above them, pulled down a pillow and tossed it to the floor. “I’ll show you what I like.”

Remy was turned over onto his front, hips over the pillow. He let out a surprised gasp. Logan leaned over him. “I like to be on top,” he said in Remy’s ear. Logan’s fingers moved between Remy’s thighs, pressed against the heat he found there. Remy drew in a breath. Logan knew not to tell him to relax. He instead moved both hands over the curve of Remy’s buttocks, up to his lower back. Thumbs pressed into the small of his back, moved slowly higher, working muscles there that were tight and uncomfortable. Muscles that probably worked a lot differently now, building tension in his hips and waist. Logan sought to release the tautness of those muscles, leaned some of his weight into the space there. Remy let out a low groan. The sound sent a rush of heat straight to Logan’s groin. He wanted to hear that sound again. 

“Ah! Oh, that’s nice,” Remy folded his arms on the floor, pressed his forehead against them. He groaned again, his voice echoed off the floorboards.

Logan moved slowly over him, his knees on the outside of Remy’s thighs. He parted Remy’s legs slightly with his hands, thumbed his shaft down and slowly rocked his hips forward. He found Remy’s opening, rubbed the tip of himself against the wetness there. Remy drew in a shaky breath. Logan pressed inwards, the head of his cock just passing the entrance. He pressed Remy’s legs together again, making a sheath of his thighs. 

“Move back against me,” Logan told him, holding his weight on his forearms; they were connected at the waist, Logan’s strong legs framing Remy’s long ones. “Just go slow.”

Remy rocked his hips back, drawing a sharp inhalation. Logan swallowed a groan, feeling himself slide a fraction deeper into that tight, untested space. Remy began rocking himself slowly, seeking out a rhythm. His eyes were half-lidded, face still, but not blank. Concentrating on something, his brows coming together slightly. He began to pant, hips moving in short jerking motions. Then rolling. Logan pressed his eyes closed, tilted his head back on his neck. The tight squeeze of Remy’s opening made it feel as if the head of his cock was being milked, gently twisted. He shook his head, gave a stuttering groan. As Remy became more confident, rocking back further onto his cock, Logan began to thrust gently. The tip of him pushing repeatedly right at the spot just within Remy’s entrance, that sensitive soft place there. Logan drew a shout of surprised pleasure from Remy. 

Braced on one elbow, Logan took one of Remy’s wrists. Directed him to move his hand between the pillow and his sex. “Touch yourself,” Logan said softly.

Remy gave a moan, his eyelids fluttered, eyes rolling back slightly. He moved first one hand, then the other, beneath his hips. Logan gave a shout of his own when he found himself all that much deeper, delving into slick heat. Remy was pressing himself against the heels of his palms, moving in small quick thrusts, driving Logan mad with pleasure. He could feel the tips of the thief’s long fingers against the underside of his shaft as Remy masturbated. Logan’s moan was one of barest restraint. 

Remy was panting heavily now, each exhale punctuated with a soft sound of need. 

“That’s it. Get after it,” Logan told him. “Get after it. Keep going.”

He was increasing the depth of his penetration, lengthening his strokes. 

“Oh, oh, Dieu. Logan,” Remy let out a shudder and his eyes closed. “I think I’m…”

He was. He was, and he was squeezing Logan tight with every contraction of his body. Logan slid himself to the hilt and Remy cried out and arched back against Logan’s hips. Logan lost himself then, barely thinking to pull back as he started to come. He dragged himself from that hot wet space, spilling himself onto Remy’s thighs and backside. His hips jerked a few more times as he pressed himself against Remy’s back, sliding himself against the cheeks of Remy’s perfect ass. Logan’s forehead rested between Remy’s shoulder blades. He panted against his back, sounds of his breathing loud in his ears. Logan sucked in deeply, inhaling the scent of Remy’s body. He again ran his tongue over that smooth, hard shoulder to taste him. He thought Remy smelled and tasted good before, now he was an intoxicant, a contact high.

With a soft moan, Remy extracted his hands from under his hips. Lay face down on the floor with a quiet, sleepy expression on his face. 

“Damn,” Remy sighed. “So that’s what that feels like.”

* * *

When he moved down to put his head on the pillow, Logan joined him. The pillowcase smelled of Remy, of sex, sleep, of Logan, and underneath that, of Anna. He was tempted to roll around on it.

“Logan,” Remy said, a question in his voice.

“You’d better not confess to being in love with me,” Logan told him.

Remy gave a short, soft laugh. “Only as friends, mon ami,” he said. His head was turned to face away towards the back of the room, so Logan couldn’t see his expression. “But now that I got your ear...when I said before, about wanting what you want, as long no one gets hurt...I meant not just physical. But emotion-wise too. I don’t want to make it like I’m involving myself in what you get up to in your personal life. I try to mind my own business. Though, I got to wonder...you sure you know what you’re doing with those two? Jean and Scott? I’d hate for them to get hurt. Your relationships tend to end...with your partners as collateral damage.”

Logan studied the shadows on the ceiling. Remy had attempted exchanges like this before, only to have Logan rebuff him. Also on occasion, ninjas would jump them mid convo. Remy rarely tried to approach him, contradict him, or draw him into conflict. Not unless it was important to him. Laura had been important enough. As it turned out, baby Hope had been important too; enough that he’d thrown himself in Logan’s path to protect her.

Remy continued: “I screwed around on my best friend, the woman I was meant to marry, thinking I could have whoever and do whatever I wanted. I took her for granted, like she wasn’t worth her weight in rubies. I will  _ never  _ make that mistake again. My excuse, if you can call it that, is that I was a self-absorbed asshole of a seventeen-year-old. So I got to ask you...what makes a grown-ass man leave a woman like Ororo Munroe, to fool around with kid-stuff? Maybe everyone feels like this island gives them a new lease on life. A do-over, so you can live your life again however you want, with whoever you want. That’s fine. How many do-overs have I been granted? Plenty. But from my perspective, you screwed up. And I’ll be damned if I lay here, say nothing, and watch you do the same dumb things I did.”

Logan’s jaw was clenched. Criticism was not something he would typically take lying down. 

“You don’t think she’s enough?” Remy asked. 

Logan rebutted: “Is Rogue enough for you? You’re lying here next to me, aren't you?”

“No, Rogue is not enough. I have my own life, my own interests,” Remy told him. “Separate from her. From all of you. And, right now, extenuatin' circumstances, as it were. That I got to work my own way out of, or through. Now, I answered. Your turn.”

“Ororo’s more’n enough. Who could think otherwise?” Logan finally admitted.

Remy blew out a stream of air through his lips, shook his head. “You might’ve blew it, Logan. She’s not one to go back for seconds. Forge went and dug himself a hole t’climb out of, didn’t he? She was not too quick to forgive him the first time ‘round. But maybe she’ll give you another shot. In your next life.”

“Maybe you could put in a good word for me,” Logan suggested.

Remy said: “I think the word you’re lookin’ for is ‘sorry.’”

~oOo~

Anna was hot, her face flushed. She was marching back home through the dark jungle, leaving behind the sounds of the cookout. Her shirt clung to her, sweaty. It was a combination of the weather and the steamy jungle. The shot of tequila she’d quickly downed at the bar didn’t help. And certainly, after what Mystique told her, Anna was considering the nuclear option. She now had an idea about what Sinister’s “exciting news” entailed.

She reached their front porch, saw a guttering candle on the small table. The lights were on in the kitchen. She could see a faint glow from upstairs. The bathroom light must’ve been left on. The porch window was shut, while the others were open. Once she’d climbed the porch she saw the screen had been ripped. Anna sat in one of the two porch chairs. Stopped for a moment to collect herself. She saw Remy’s vape pen on the table and was half-tempted. She didn’t know what was in it exactly, something from the island. Remy said it was one of the few things he cared to ingest from the place. Anna closed her eyes. She could hear voices from above. Logan’s low bass rumble. Remy’s voice, contralto, and not baritone as it once was. Anna thought his voice might be the thing she missed the most (okay, second most, but she’d never come out and tell him that). 

When she heard Logan’s voice raised in anger, she thought to go upstairs and break it up. Her chest clenched tightly. Now she had another reason to sweat. The angry sounds didn’t last long. For a while, it was quiet. Rogue drew a steadying breath. She heard a shout. It wasn’t a cry of pain, she thought, but of pleasure and surprise. Anna tilted her head back, closed her eyes. The sounds came more frequently now. Anna squirmed in her chair, clenched the armrests until they creaked. 

She and Remy had enjoyed some very adult videos in the past few days on his laptop. Brainstorming ideas for their current situation. There wasn’t anything Mystique could tell her that she hadn’t already learned about. Anna had clicked on the LGBQT+ link. There were a couple of videos she’d taken an avid interest in. Basically, the ones involving two Adonises worshipping one another's bodies. 

“Do you like?” Remy asked her, a smile in his seductive voice. 

“I can see the appeal. Do you...like that, too?”

“Well, those fellas are nice t’look at. But I kinda have a taste for...a different kinda fella.”

“How different?”

He showed her a few examples. “Hunh,” Anna said. “Really runs the gamut.”

“Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes, ma jolie. It’s more of a cult of personality thing, really. Got a---presence---about them.” 

Anna smiled a bit. “I mean, I like a commanding kinda guy. In small doses.”

“How small was Magneto’s dose?”

Anna jumped him, tickling Remy ruthlessly until he was too breathless to speak. 

Upstairs, Anna could imagine what was happening; images of the “film shorts” they’d watched together danced in her head. She was panting slightly, pressing her thighs together. She had to imagine Logan was on top of Remy. She pictured Remy moving beneath Logan. Her face burned. She heard Remy make a low sound, and Logan answered with a drawn out groan. 

“Oh, oh lordy,” Anna whispered, her hips seemed to be rocking of their own volition. Remy’s voice, then several short cries. She could easily picture his face as he climaxed. Logan’s expression was less clear in her mind, she’d never seen him like that before. But he must be enjoying what he was doing if the sound he made next was any indication. Anna said: “Yes, I agree with you, Logan.  _ Grrwll _ , indeed.”

They were talking now. Remy said something. Logan answered. “Stay,” Remy said clearly. “I want you to. Please.”

Anna didn’t hear a response, but Logan didn’t come down the stairs. She stood, feeling a different kind of heat---between her legs, an aching heat. She quietly opened the door. Anna went to the refrigerator, removed the ice tray and filled a glass. Then she poured herself a glass of iced tea, took several long gulps. She heard a high mewling sound followed by a growl. Confused, she looked up at the staircase. The sound was not coming from there. 

Anna spotted Oliver’s tail, fluffed like a bottlebrush, whipping back and forth under the couch. Clearly he was upset there was another alpha male in the house. Figaro came bouncing out, crunching on something that was still fluttering in his mouth. Then Lucifer popped up from behind the couch cushions, wary eyes peering at her. Anna started towards the staircase and slowly stepped up the stairs to the landing. She turned to face the last half dozen steps. Fig dashed past her into the bedroom, and at the top, gave a startled jump straight into the air before dancing away sideways out of sight. Anna walked more slowly, cautious like Lucy, who was craning his neck to look into the room, ears swiveling. 

Anna saw Logan first, laying on his back on the floor with a pillow under his head. He turned to look at her as she took the last few steps. His eyes might’ve been guarded. But this was Logan, and ‘thousand-yard stare’ was his go-to look; ‘cautious’ was a less recognizable expression. Remy was beside Logan, sharing the same pillow, but was on his stomach, his face turned away. Her eyes took in the sight of them, drinking in the planes of Logan’s heavily muscled body, the darkness of his body hair. She’d seen him naked only about a million times, but not with that postcoital look of mussed hair, the faint sheen on his forehead, and his sex still semi-erect and laying on his thigh. Logan’s arm was over the small of Remy’s back, his hand resting at Remy’s hip. Her gaze strolled up Remy’s well-made legs to his glutes (easily the most attractive rear in the history of man or mutantkind, moreso by its elusivity as it was frequently hidden beneath coats, capes and other inconveniently-placed fabrics). Now Logan’s broad hand framed one of those gorgeous cheeks now, his fingers resting in the space where muscle dipped at the hip like the waist of a violin before the graceful curve of That Upon Which He Sometimes Sat. 

Logan cleared his throat. “Y’alright there, Rogue?” he asked awkwardly.

She nodded slowly. Her heart was beating quite hard. Muscles clenched in deep places, rendering her short on words. “You alright, Logan?” she responded, her voice just slightly higher than normal. 

Remy might have suppressed a hiccup of laughter behind closed lips. She saw his shoulders give a little shake. Oh, he was loving every moment of this. Logan squeezed his hip, pressing his fingers into flesh. Now his expression was a little annoyed. Remy slowly rolled over onto his back, reached his arms over his head and stretched like a cat. He smiled at her with half-lidded eyes. Anna exhaled, feeling the nervousness that gripped her chest release. 

“You okay, Rem?” she asked. She saw his shoulder had been scratched. She noted the blood smeared on the inside of one thigh.

“The man made a woman outta me,” Remy informed her. Logan raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a groan. 

Anna crossed the room and knelt beside Logan. Remy sat up, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Anna leaned over Logan, kissed Remy’s lips. She’d meant for it to be a simple smooch for reassurance, but he claimed the back of her head with a quick hand and turned their kiss into a heated lip-lock, parted lips and gentle curl of tongue before a lingering sweep of his mouth over her own. She was blinking dreamily when he finally released her. Anna cast her eyes downward at Logan, who had been observing this exchange. Logan’s cock had also appreciated the show. As different as Logan’s body was from Remy’s, they shared one similar characteristic. One that she had exclusively known until her up-close and personal experience with one of God’s Chosen People, aka Max Eisenhardt, or Erik Lehnsherr as she’d (in the Biblical sense) known him, or the artist formerly known as Magnus. When she’d first seen the miniaturized version of Magneto’s helmet, she’d thought surely he must have suffered some kind of accident. No, that was just what a circumcised penis looked like. Turned out both were equally good, but she happened to like her husband’s best. Or she did, until The Waterfall Incident.

Logan’s body responded to her gaze. Her eyes moved upwards over the rippled muscles of his stomach, his chiseled pectoral muscles, the corded column of his throat to his face; a face that a Greek sculptor would have wept to look upon before proceeding to carve a thousand busts of Heracles. Rogue leaned forward and paused. 

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, her mouth a few inches from his.

“Have at it, darlin’,” he responded. 

She pressed her lips to his, something she’d done many times before, just in a different context. Anna kissed him several times, short, long, soft, lingering. She felt lust, but also deep, deep gratitude. She straightened, sat back on her knees. Logan’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, let it out with a slight rumble in his chest. He was still focused on her mouth when Remy dropped a kiss on Logan too, no fair warning. Anna was pretty sure she was about to see her husband’s last living moments. Logan’s hand gripped him by the hair, but surprisingly didn’t jerk him away. When Remy’s lips parted from Logan’s, they were connected for a moment by a thin line of saliva until Remy gave one of his trademark grins. Then Logan released him with an aggravated huff. 

“You’re a little shit,” Logan said, almost fondly.

Remy flopped onto his side, laying on the pillow again. His hand rested on Logan’s groin, fingers brushing the trail of hair from Logan’s navel to down below. Anna saw his fingernails were rimmed with dirt. Noticed too his hair had a dead moth in it as well as some grass. 

“Remy, what in the world happened to you? I thought you were done with having sex outside?” Rogue asked.

“Oh,” Remy said, looking at his nails. “No, this was before. I fell and landed on my pride. It hurt.”

“And your shoulder?” she continued, touching the skin beside the scratches.

Logan responded: “Cat tried to kill me, so your husband threw himself in harm’s way. Very chivalrous.”

“He gets that way sometimes.”

Logan continued: “Why does your cat speak Japanese?”

Remy and Anna looked at Logan, perplexed. “The cat says ‘meow’, Logan,” Remy told him.

“He called me a bastard dog,” Logan said.

“We’ll have a word with him about his language,” Anna said. “We don’t take dog’s name in vain in this house.”

“Where’d Mystique get all these cats from, anyway? And why did she give them to you?” Logan asked.

“Who knows why Mystique does anything...maybe she thought she was messing with me?” Remy shrugged. 

At the mention of her mother, Anna stood. “Remy, why don’t you take a shower, hon? Logan, can I get you a drink?”

“Unless you want to hose off too,” Remy offered. 

“I’ll just use your washroom,” Logan said and sat up. “Yeah, Rogue. I’ll take that drink.”

She nodded her head towards the stairs. “Meet you down there.”

In the kitchen, Anna turned on the light over the stovetop. She reached up to their hiding place where they kept their stash. Remy’s cute friend Jacob (sometimes Jackie) somehow managed to procure all kinds of things for them (for a substantial fee and the promise of continuous employment). She didn’t know how Jake got things into Krakoa, and Remy informed her ignorance is bliss. 

She recovered a bottle of bourbon from the space and two highball glasses from the shelves. She wasn’t about to drink this stuff herself, but she figured Remy would join them after his shower.

Logan sat at the kitchen table. She was grateful he’d put his shorts on, as she didn’t want to embarrass him by making him sit on a towel. Oliver growled. Logan growled back. This only enraged the cat. The other two cats followed, Figaro capering about, Lucifer, cautious but friendly. 

“Bourbon?” Rogue asked. “You want ice, water?”

“No, darlin’, just in the glass.”

Rogue poured him a hefty measure, smiled and pushed the glass across the table in his direction. “Let me put on some music,” she said and went to the record player. She saw the album Remy had selected, shook her head with a smile. Anna slipped it back into its sleeve, found something else. She liked side B the best, put the record on. Steel guitars and a deep male voice, country-western but not. His voice was joined in a duet with Shania Twain. Anna sat with Logan again, smiling. Canadian and country, a good song for them both.

_ Because, baby, we've been up all night. I built that road and walked it every mile...Takin' orders never been my style, yeah...it's been a while... _

“You and the Cajun are something else,” Logan said idly after drawing in a sip, savoring it and swallowing. 

“I take it Remy didn’t ask,” Anna said, raising the corner of her mouth in a chagrined smile.

“Poor fucking bastard,” Logan said.

“Don’t,” Anna said, putting her hand over his. “Don’t feel bad for him. He’d hate to be pitied.”

Logan rolled his shoulders, sighed. “I mean it...you two are something else. I don’t think I’ve seen or smelled anything like it. Don’t know what it is. Not a mate bond or a psychic link. Is it chemical? Magic? Is it your mutant powers, did he imprint on you or something? Do his powers draw you in like some kinda gravitational pull?”

Rogue extended her hands, a helpless gesture. She hardly knew what Logan was even talking about. 

Logan continued: “Smells like an aphrodisiac up there, and if you’d bottle it no one would leave the bedroom again, not for food, drink, sunshine, because you’d always feel satisfied. I don’t get it. Half the people see what you have and hate it. The other half can’t get enough.”

“Which half are you, Logan?”

“I go back and forth. The both of you aggravate the hell out of me. More him than you. But you can cut him some slack. You’re not exactly a peach.”

“You could take your own advice,” Anna said, smiling. She looked down at the table, her expression became serious. “Is Remy really okay?”

“Physically or mentally? Because I think he’s screwed up either way,” Logan said. 

“He’s got a lot on his plate,” Anna said. “Trying to find balance. That was before. Then: The Waterfall Incident. I think if this happened to anyone else, things would be a lot worse. Remy tends to take the super-weird in stride. He’d have been okay, I think, if not for Sinister...and Mystique.”

Logan’s jaw worked as he mulled something over. “He’s still under the impression it was Creed who jumped him.”

Anna looked down at her hands. She was twisting her ring around her finger. She stopped and laced her fingers together. She turned her head towards the staircase. She could hear the shower running still. “I didn’t tell him it was Raven. She’s messed with him too many times.”

“I can’t decide if that’s the right thing to do or not,” Logan said. 

“I can. Because what she’s done now...well, it might push Remy over the edge,” Rogue shook her head in disgust. “I don’t know if she wants him, hates him. Is jealous of him, me, or both. She keeps insinuating herself into our life. Wants to manipulate, control us. Maybe break us up? Or make it so we’re beholden to her.”

“Maybe you can absorb her and find out,” Logan suggested.

Anna gasped at the suggestion as if punched in the gut. “N-no!” she lowered her face to her hands. “I can’t. Not ever, and especially not now.”

Logan’s brow creased. “What happened, darlin’? What’d she say to you? What did she do?”

Rogue’s chest was tight, it was hard to breathe. She felt Logan stand, come to crouch beside her. His hand was warm on her shoulder. “Anna?”

Rogue took a gasping breath, suppressed tears. “She’s wrong though. Remy doesn’t need a blood relation. He wouldn’t care. About where a baby came from. Only I  _ know  _ he wants a child one day. One way or another.”

“And you don’t?”

Rogue started to shake her head. “It’s not that. There’s just so many reasons…to not. What with the lives we lead. Where this world seems to be heading. But most of all---just---where does it end?”

“Where does what end?”

“With my mother, with Raven and what she’s done to me. And before that, the absolute destitution I survived, neglect, mistreatment, the craziness. An aunt incapable of expressing anything but anger and hate,” Anna said. “In comparison, Remy and his dad’s relationship is almost  _ normal _ . And my god, the level deceitfulness and manipulation in the Guild...it’s not any wonder his brain goes in circles. And Remy’s convinced himself that all of it---was done in his best interest somehow. Just generations of abuse. Where does the cycle end? It could end with me. I could end it.”

“Except now I think that choice was taken away from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Remy asks Logan for some gardening tips. Then Rogue gets some...or a lot of...attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s message: If you are a person who feels like they are in the wrong body, I see you and I stand with you. If you are a person who believes in their right to dictate what happens to their own body, I fight for you. If you are a woman and you feel as if your body has betrayed you, I have faith that life will bring you blessings you haven’t yet imagined, and my heart goes out to you. If you feel like your personhood was subsumed by living for others, I know you. If you are an ally of any of those mentioned above, I applaud you and the strength you’ve given to those who’ve struggled. I love you.


End file.
